Only Fools
by museaway
Summary: In which Spock attends the Vulcan Science Academy, Jim passes the Kobayashi Maru, and Pike lives. A love story. (Kirk/Spock, first time, mostly-canon-AU, happy ending!)
1. Chapter 1

_Written for the Star Trek Big Bang 2013. Beta by jouissant. _

_This story is a Kirk/Spock romance, but it includes a brief Kirk/Gary Mitchell relationship. _

_The gorgeous, gorgeous art by CanneDeBonbon can be seen on my AO3 account (see profile for link)  
_

ooo ooo ooo

**Vulcan, 2254**

"It is deceptively restrictive," Spock told his mother as she continued to fuss with his sweater.

"It is Vulcan," she said and kissed his cheek. Though he knew her action left no mark, he wiped it away when he knew her back was turned. She would not wait outside the chamber, as she had once waited for him as a child when he defended his actions against the youth that taunted his mixed heritage. She would wait at the house. A small part of Spock, the shameful, lurking part that cried for her touch, hoped she would prepare his favorite meal of soup and bread, for she could sense his unease despite his effort to shield it. They had picked a fresh crop of plomeek yesterday. He watched her shoulders, the scarf draped around her head and neck as she left. How often had he wished her Vulcan? And yet she had never wished him human. He felt an unpleasant sensation, a sour feeling, and willed it away.

The ceiling in the chamber was tall, arched, and austere despite the room's brightness. The high minister of the Vulcan Science Academy regarded him from his position above the room. Spock stood proud, still, determined.

"Your final record is flawless," the minister said, "with one exception: I see that you have applied to Starfleet as well."

Spock raised his chin slightly. "It was logical to cultivate multiple options."

"Logical, but unnecessary. You are hereby accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy. It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much, despite your disadvantage. All rise."

Above him, the council members stood in a quiet rustle of robes. Their faces were as stone, his father's among them. Spock's heart clenched in his side at the minister's words, but he would not flinch. He would not prove them correct. He was a Vulcan. His own voice filled the hall, strong, steady.

"If you would clarify, minister. To what disadvantage are you referring?"

"Your human mother."

Anger flared in him, the same anger that flared as a child before he brought his fists to a classmate's face. He took a long, slow inhale through his nose and checked his controls, flipping each one like a switch to reset it. The controls existed in two rows, evenly spaced, and they floated before him in his mind. He turned them off, one after the other, in a flurry of mental fingers: anger, irritation, annoyance, hurt, pride, lo—

He would not think the last one. It was not logical. What the minister declared was truth. Truth cannot be ignored. Genetically, Spock was half human. He lacked the level of control a full-blooded Vulcan achieved innately. His was a daily struggle to repress his human side, which muted as the last of his controls snapped into place. He entered a state of balance, ignoring the blood pounding in his ears, deaf to the muffled screams of his human conscience urging him to decline. No Vulcan had ever declined entrance to the Vulcan Science Academy, and Spock was Vulcan.

He smoothed the rough place in his mind where his human half crouched, cowering, silencing it.

"Council, ministers..." His voice was even. "I accept."

ooo ooo ooo

**Earth, 2258**

"They're going to find out, you know." Bones glared at Jim across the table at the little coffee shop a few blocks from campus. Jim unsnapped his collar and grinned, biting into a turkey sandwich.

"Christ," he swore, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. "I've gotta introduce you to condiments."

"They're going to find out you cheated," Bones said again, "and you're going to catch hell."

"Maybe they'll be impressed," Jim said. "It's not like anyone's ever tried this before."

"No one else is this stupid."

"Or this brilliant. C'mon, you have to admit, it was pretty awesome to win the simulation. Wasn't that better than us all getting killed a third time?"

"I think getting killed is the point," Bones said and made a salad shish-kabob on his fork. "Your girlfriend's here," he said, pointing over Jim's shoulder. There were seven footsteps in rapid succession, and then Uhura slid into the chair beside Jim and rested her elbows on the table.

"You cheated," she said matter-of-factly, turning to look him in the eye. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"I—" Jim started.

"Actually, don't tell me. I have a feeling I can guess."

"Sorry for hiding under the bed."

"I don't know why you bothered," she said, signaling for a waitress. "Janaran tea and the chicken wrap," she said and the waitress nodded.

"And bring me some mayo," Jim added, shooting her a winning smile.

"They'll figure it out," Uhura said.

"So?"

"That's what I was just telling him," Bones said.

"They'll figure out what you did and how you did it, and then we'll all have to sit through an academic hearing and watch your brilliant mind get thrown out because of your equally huge ego."

"Or," Jim said, "they'll see what I did for what it is, a clever tactical move."

"You're kidding," Uhura deadpanned. Jim shook his head.

"No, listen! It's genius. I just looked at the situation differently. Most people go in expecting it to be a battle situation, right? I took it for what it literally is—a computer program, and those I can beat."

"How many hours did you spend 'beating' it, exactly?" Uhura asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

"You know, if you'd just taken the test like everyone else—"

"I'd taken it twice, Bones."

"— and not tried to _beat it _but understand the point —"

"The test itself is a cheat!"

"— you wouldn't have wasted god knows how many days trying to win something that is unwinnable."

"I don't believe in a—"

"Yes, we know," Uhura cut in. "You practically have that tattooed on your face."

"One day, you'll warm up to me," he said, nudging her.

"I'm never sleeping with you, Kirk."

"Hey, who said anything about sleeping with anyone?"

"I know how your brain works," Uhura said. The waitress returned with the mug of tea and a small dish of mayonnaise, which Jim slopped onto the sandwich while Bones scoffed.

"I suppose you've got a hypo for this," Jim said. He bit in with a satisfied look.

"Gary was asking about you again," Uhura said casually, sipping her tea.

"Do we have to talk about him?" Bones asked, looking up from the PADD he'd pulled out of...somewhere.

"No, we don't," Jim said sharply.

"He wants to see you," Uhura continued. "To apologize."

"Is he going to apologize to my hand? Because he nearly broke it," Bones said.

"No one told you to punch him," Uhura pointed out, looking at him over the rim of her mug. "Look, he cornered me outside of lecture again this morning. I said I'd mention it to you. I didn't make him any promises."

"Okay."

"I know you didn't like him," she said to Bones.

"That's the understatement of the year. Guy breaks Jim's heart—"

"He did not," Jim cut in.

"—then parades a multitude of sex partners in front of him—"

"It wasn't a multitude," Jim corrected.

"—and I'm the one who has to pick his ass up at every bar on campus because he's too annihilated on tequila to get himself home."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about him?" Jim said and turned to Uhura. "Do we need to do anything else for the Xeno Club party?"

Uhura shook her head.

"No," she said. "I think we nailed down all the critical details."

"Like what liquor to serve."

"We have differing opinions of what constitutes 'critical,' but I can't think of anything we forgot."

"I still think Andorian Mad Libs would be a riot."

"They'd be pornographic if you wrote them."

"Well, yeah," Jim said. "That'd be the point."

Uhura's sandwich arrived. She removed the tomato, borrowed a healthy scoop of Jim's mayo (he smirked at Bones), and ate in polite but large bites.

"Hungry?" Bones prompted.

"Starved," she said through a mouthful and signaled that she intended to keep speaking. She swallowed. "I was up late in the long-range sensor lab. Picked up a transmission from the Klingon prison planet."

"Oh, yeah, you were telling Gaila about that."

"Can we—" she said, holding up a hand to stop him talking. "Can we pretend we weren't both half naked last night, please? Thanks."

"Do I get to call you Nyota?"

"Don't press your luck," she said. "Anyway, forty-seven ships were destroyed. The oddest part, though, is that the ships were all destroyed by a single vessel, a massive ship."

"You sure you heard it right?" Jim asked.

She set down her sandwich and glared at him.

"How's your Klingon?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Rusty."

"Mine's flawless," she countered, grinning. "The translation is accurate. I recorded it, went back over the transmission for a couple hours. I even ran it through that program you wrote me that helps clean up static."

"That was worth you telling me your name, wasn't it?"

"It was," she admitted. "But you're still not allowed to use it."

"I'll wear you down."

"You know, I am sitting here," Bones said. "In case you both forgot."

"Sorry, Len," Uhura said. "It's the linguist in me. Sometimes I get caught up in it."

"Well, good for you. Maybe you'll get that fancy ship assignment you've been hoping for."

"You know they'll give it to someone with seniority," Uhura said. "I'll be lucky to get the _Farragut_."

"Don't sell yourself short," Jim said. "Your test scores are off the charts. No one translates Gorn like you do, baby."

"Don't call me baby."

"You don't like it?"

"She tells you this every week," Bones said. His comm chirped; so did Jim's. Uhura took hers from the small leather clutch she had set on the table and flipped it open. The smile died on her lips. A crease formed between her eyebrows as her eyes scanned down, and the playfulness that had lit her face seconds before was notably absent.

"What's it say?" Jim asked.

"There's been a distress call from Vulcan," she said, her voice tight. "We've got to go."

"What? Why?" Jim shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. He reluctantly stood when she put a hand on his arm and pulled on his sleeve.

"The fleet's in the Laurentian system," she said. She kept her voice low. "I know you know that. Come on."

They ran back to campus, Bones grumbling behind them. A stream of cadets in red uniform migrated toward Hangar One. Bones tapped Jim on the shoulder and motioned toward the Starfleet medical insignia. Jim nodded and watched him hurry to gather with the rest of the fleet's medical crew. Uhura pointed to a lieutenant in Academy blacks reading names and ship assignments.

"Charlie," Uhura said when he'd finished, sidling up next to him. "Where am I?"

"Uhura, USS _Enterprise_."

"And Jim, too."

"Kirk, James T. USS _Enterprise_. Shuttles twelve through eighteen. Get going."

"Thanks," she said and once again grabbed Jim's sleeve.

"You don't have to drag me, you know."

"This must be pretty serious," she said, ignoring him, "for them to send out the _Enterprise_. It's not scheduled to launch for a few weeks. They haven't even had the shakedown cruise."

"At least you aren't on the _Farragut_."

Her grin flashed over her shoulder. "Can you believe it?"

They pushed through the crowd of cadets, navigated around carts of supplies and weapons being hastily loaded onto the shuttles for transports to the starships waiting in space dock. There was a buzz of nervousness among the crowd, fear on young faces as they accepted their assignments.

"Here," Uhura said, pointing to shuttle fourteen. She kept a hand on his back as he passed through the door and fell into the first open seat. Jim's comm chirped, and he read the message on screen.

**oo** Enterprise

"Bones is coming with us," he announced and wrote back confirming their ship assignment.

"Put on your seatbelt," Uhura reminded him as she clicked her own into the buckle.

"You sound like Bones. He about throws up on these things."

"Then I'm glad to be sitting next to you instead," Uhura said.

"Buckle up," someone called as the shuttle door closed. "We're on our way."

Jim hadn't seen the _Enterprise_ since she'd been under construction at the Riverside Shipyard. As the shuttle rose and glided to the bay doors, he imagined her sleek duranium exterior, the clean lines of her nacelles, the way she would surge under him when they assumed warp speed. Uhura must have sensed his excitement, because she patted his knee.

"Cool off, cowboy," she said. "She's not yours yet."

**ooo ooo ooo**

The rumbling beneath his feet caused Spock to drop his focus momentarily, raising his head from where it was bent over the petrographic microscope. The rumbling was unfamiliar. The counter trembled beneath his hands. On the platform was the sandstone he examined. The sample vibrated. Above his head on the open shelving, containers of dark solution shook, the liquid's flat surface tilting back and forth as the bottles slid and clinked together. He frowned. His fingers gripped the edge of the counter, irrationally trying to still the movements with his own strength. The shaking continued. He felt it in his feet and legs, heard the building around him groan against the strain of the sideways force. He concluded that the building structure had not failed. This rumbling was sustained, moving the building itself, powerful enough to shake even the thick rock walls.

He rose from his stool and walked unsteadily to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtain that blocked the hot afternoon sun. Through the glass, it was immediately apparent what caused the disruption. From the sky, from a high point Spock could not see, a beam of fire bore down on the planet's surface. It was not technology he had seen before. The beam was strong; it was focused on a single point in the stretch of desert beyond the city limits. The beam triggered seismic activity. Therefore, it must have breached the rock. Why would someone do this? Surely it could not be intentional, unless...

This was a drill. Someone was drilling a hole into the planet.

Spock's comm sounded, and he answered without a glance at the screen.

"Spock," he said.

"This is your father," Sarek's voice was distorted across the connection. "Undoubtedly you are aware the planet is experiencing seismic activity."

"Indeed. The device responsible is visible from my laboratory."

"I see. The High Command has sent a distress call to the Federation for assistance. Planetwide evacuation may be imminent."

"I will return home immediately."

"No," Sarek said firmly. "Wait where you are. You must go to the nearest transport in the event an evacuation is ordered."

"What of you and mother?"

"We will be with the others in the Katric arc."

"You will evacuate?"

"Should it become necessary. Live long and prosper."

"Live long and prosper, father."

Spock returned the comm to the front pocket of his robes. From within the storage cabinet, Spock heard the sound of glass breaking. The quaking became stronger. The deeper the drill reached, he reasoned, the more excited the faults would remain. The science academy's buildings were not designed to withstand seismic activity over 5.8. The fault lines had been examined prior to the building's construction. Seismic events had never been stronger than 1.7 in all documentation since Surak's reformation. Further, Mount Tarhana, while active, had never caused ground disturbance. To waste resources designing a building to withstand an event with a statistically insignificant likelihood of occurrence was not logical.

Nor was it logical to remain. The building would not withstand continued seismic activity. It was necessary for Spock to vacate for his own safety. He thought of his mother at their home in ShiKahr, visible in the distance. Sarek would ensure her safety. Spock powered off the microscope. He tucked the PADD within his robes and touched the platinum emblem at his neck. The action provided him with a momentary sense of calm. He left the laboratory.

In the hallway, fellow scientists peered out from laboratory doorways and classrooms.

"We must leave," Spock said.

"Where?" Solek asked.

Spock had no answer. The building pitched, and he stumbled to the far wall, catching himself on a door handle.

"We must leave," he repeated and walked to the staircase.

Others followed wordlessly, a quiet shuffle of feet down the great stone steps that curved around a central pillar and deposited them in the entrance hall of the geology wing. Spock motioned to the exterior doors. Solek remained at the base of the stairs.

"Would it not be safer underground?"

"If the building collapses, you will be trapped."

Solek hesitated.

"Your fear serves no purpose," Spock said and pushed open the doors.

The drill blazed bright, even against the double suns, which beat down their own harsh light. The sound of the drill was apparent now, gurgling fire, a tremendous thundering. The magnitude of the shaking increased; it would continue to increase exponentially, he decided. If the drill reached too deeply, penetrated the planet's core, Vulcan could become unstable. It would be necessary to abandon the planet. Spock raised his eyes to the sky and saw transports rising into the air, disappearing into the clouded orange atmosphere. All around him, comms chirped simultaneously. He did not need to look at his own to know what the message read.

"Come," he said to the group of Vulcans assembled behind him. "We must go to the evacuation point."

With the threat of a war with Romulus ever present, evacuation points were strategically located at all major cities on Vulcan. Locations had been selected so that the greatest number of survivors could escape in the event of an attack. The science academy had its own evacuation point and emergency shuttle, which seated seventy-five passengers. There was enough room for Spock and the remaining faculty and students to board. He stood at the shuttle's entrance, waiting for Solek. He did not come.

"We must leave," the pilot said, and Spock stood back as the shuttle door closed. He sat quietly with his hands folded on his lap as the shuttle began to rise. Spock had ridden in a shuttle eight times. He had traveled to Earth once as a child with his parents, and he had accompanied three explorations to nearby planets to collect ice core samples and study exotic minerals. His eyes remained closed as the shuttle rose. He had no desire to look out the small windows. He knew the orange sky of Vulcan was disappearing, becoming darker and darker until it was swallowed by the black of space, its stars beyond. Beside him, T'Leia spoke quietly to herself.

"In my haste, I did not follow protocol to shut off the gas valve."

"It is inconsequential," Spock said, and he gripped the armrest tightly when the shuttle began to shake as they breached the atmosphere. "I estimate the building's structure will fail if the seismic event continues at its current magnitude."

There was muffled speaking among the other passengers and the shuttle crew. The pilot's voice filled the tight space through an overhead speaker.

"We are unable to communicate with the remaining shuttles. There is a Federation starship on our sensors, but we are unable to hail the ship. It is possible that what is affecting Vulcan may also be affecting our communication. Remain seated."

Spock focused on his breathing, inhaling slowly and counting the time of each exhale, slowing down his breaths until he was in a semi-meditative state. Briefly, just as a precaution, he felt for his mother's familial bond. It hummed steadily in his mind. He touched it and pulled back, waiting.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim rocked back on his heels, staring up at the speaker overhead. Had he just heard...? It couldn't be, but something Uhura said at lunch stuck in his head. _A massive ship._ His stomach twisted. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and nudged Olson.

"Hey," he said. "Take over for me for a second. I've gotta check something."

"Now's not the best time, Kirk," Olson said but took the wrench from Jim's hand and ducked his head into the console. Jim's legs were stiff from kneeling. He kicked them out and went to the nearest console, tapping the controls until the ship-wide message replayed.

"...twenty-two hundred hours, telemetry detected an anomaly in the neutral zone, what appeared to be a lightning storm in space..."

"Shit," Jim swore. Olson stared up at him but Jim ignored the questioning look. "Computer, locate crew member Uhura."

"Where are you going?" Olson said, rising.

"I'll be back," Jim said and ran out of Engineering. He slapped his communicator.

"Kirk to language lab three."

"Uhura here."

"Uhura!" Jim exclaimed, palming the corridor wall to keep upright as he avoided a head-on collision with a member of the security team. "The ship that destroyed the warbirds. The one from the transmission last night. Was the ship Romulan?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Just answer me. Was it Romulan?"

"Yes."

"Meet me on the bridge. There's no time to explain. Go now."

He flipped open his communicator again as he neared the turbolift. He knew his conclusion would sound far fetched, but of all people, Pike just might believe him.

ooo ooo ooo

A red glow filled the bridge as the alarm began to sound, and Jim took a deep breath.

"Arrival in Vulcan in five seconds..." Sulu said. "Four... three... two..."

The ship lurched as they avoided the field of debris before them, huge hulking sections of ships blown apart and floating as satellites around Vulcan.

"Emergency evasive," Pike called as Sulu steadied his hands on the controls and guided the ship on a clear path. The _Enterprise_ shuddered as a wrecked piece of saucer struck her hull. "Damage report."

"Deflector shields are holding."

"Full reverse," Pike said, "come about starboard ninety degrees, drop us underneath..."

There was a collective gasp as the great ship filled the viewscreen, dwarfing their own. Its black hull was stark against the red of Vulcan, long spidery fingers extended behind it. Jim felt a chill run through his body.

"Captain," Chekov said, "they're locking torpedoes."

"Avert auxiliary power from port nacelles to forward shields."

The torpedo's force shook the bridge sideways; Jim stumbled and caught himself on the navigator's chair.

"Sulu," Pike said. "Status report."

"Shields at thirty-two percent. Their weapons are powerful, sir. We can't take another hit like that."

"Get me Starfleet Command."

"Captain," Chekov said, "the ship has lowered a device into Vulcan's atmosphere. It is blocking our communications and transport abilities."

"All power to forward shields. Prepare to fire all weapons."

"Captain," Uhura called. "We're being hailed."

The screen flickered, and an unfamiliar face filled the viewport. The man was bald, with a tribal tattoo across his face, and pointed ears like a Vulcan. His eyes were expressive, however, unlike Jim's Vulcan language professor. _So that's what a Romulan looks like_, Jim thought. He frowned and curled his hand tightly over the back of Pike's chair.

"Hello."

"I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking?"

"Hi, Christopher," the Romulan spoke. "I'm Nero."

"You've declared war against the Federation," Pike said, sitting tall in his chair. "Withdraw. I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location."

"I do not speak for the Empire," Nero spat. "We stand apart, as does your Vulcan crewmember, isn't that right, Spock?"

"Spock?" Pike said. "Who the hell is Spock?"

"I am familiar with Earth's history," Nero retorted. "Commander Spock served as science officer aboard the USS_ Enterprise_. Why isn't Spock on your bridge?"

Jim looked back over his shoulder at Chekov, bent over the science station. He shrugged.

"No one by the name of Spock is assigned to this ship," Pike said flatly. "It seems you are mistaken."

Nero's eyes flashed before fading into an eerily jovial expression.

"Captain Pike," Nero said, "your transporter has been disabled. As you can see by the rest of your armada, you have no choice. You will man a shuttle, come aboard the Narada for negotiations. That is all."

The viewscreen again filled with the huge red planet, the strange Romulan craft, pieces of wreckage drifting past slowly. Pike sighed, leaning forward over his knees.

"He'll kill you, you know that," Jim said quietly. "We gain nothing by diplomacy."

Pike patted Jim's hand where it rested on the command chair and rose. "Sulu, walk with me. Kirk, you come too. I've seen you in a bar fight; I've got a job for you and Olson. Chekov, you have the conn."

ooo ooo ooo

The minutes passed quickly within his trance, and T'Leia was speaking rapidly close to his ear.

"Spock," she said. "The shuttle bay must be cleared. We must exit now."

He blinked and looked up at the window, which was not black but bright, reflecting the interior of a starship. How long had he been in meditation? He found he had no sense of time. He nodded and rose, following T'Leia out of the shuttle and down the ramp. Starfleet personnel in their colorful uniforms urgently motioned them to move toward the front of the bay, where other Vulcans stood awaiting them.

"C'mon, pick up the pace," a young human ensign—a cadet by her uniform—shouted. "We've gotta clear the deck."

When they were safely behind closed doors, the shuttle bay chief slapped a large red button, which undoubtedly signaled the bridge to lower the rear shields momentarily. A wave of shuttles entered and set down, and a buzzing told Spock the shields were back in place.

"You are all to report to sickbay," another officer called, this one male, and they followed wordlessly.

The ship's corridors were filled with smoke that curled into Spock's lungs as the Vulcans herded silently through the damaged ship. His eyes stung in the acrid air, and he coughed to hide his discomfort. Arms stiffly at his side, eyes focused on the back of T'Leia's head, he concentrated on controlling his body's instinct to breathe. From deep within the ship, he could hear the sounds of human mourning, of cries and raised voices, of metal screaming under a fire's heat. The corridor was bathed in a dim red light that vacillated—an emergency light, Spock deduced, what Starfleet termed a Red Alert — and he wondered for a moment if the surface evacuation had been in vain. His father had not contacted him, yet Spock reasoned that any force capable of disabling shuttle-to-ship communications would surely disrupt personal communicators. Sarek would ensure his own safety and that of Spock's mother. She lingered, quietly, in the back of his mind. He touched only briefly. They entered a turbolift in groups of fifteen. While he waited for the car to return, Spock's eyes lingered on a section of wall blown apart, a mess of wire and metal fragments, and fear stabbed him. He tamped it down. He had not taken air for seventy-three standard seconds.

The turbolift's smooth movements caused Spock to close his eyes as his stomach dropped from the speed, and he indulged the fantasy of what it would have been like to serve on a starship. It had been his greatest desire as a child, a fact his mother knew and encouraged. He had never confided in his father, mentioning Starfleet as an option in the event the Science Academy did not accept his application. He imagined himself in the fitted uniforms, an insignia badge on his chest, respected by his peers. He would hold a science position, perhaps. The fantasy ended as the lift halted and doors slid open. Ridiculous, he chastised, to wonder at something that would not be.

Sickbay, indicated by a hastily scrawled plaque, had been relocated, likely as a result of damage to the ship. Perhaps the main sickbay had been destroyed or was unsafe. Another possibility was that the ship's casualties were too great for sickbay to hold crewmembers and the rescued Vulcans. Perhaps out of respect for Vulcan culture and privacy, they were being granted a temporary sickbay. But no, there was a human with blood on his cheek standing among them, pressing a rag to his face as a scowling doctor waved them inside. It was most likely the number of injuries were great. This appeared to be a surgical wing, hastily converted with portable scanners and stacks of bandages. Nurses and volunteers—they must be, from the lack of detachment in their eyes—darted between surgical tables where critical patients lay moaning and rows of chairs for those with less severe injuries. The room was dark and loud with the whirring of machines, the groans of the dying, the confusion in the corridor beyond.

"If you have an injury that requires immediate attention," a human male shouted over the din, "step to your left. This includes anyone who is actively bleeding, has hit his head, or is experiencing severe pain. The rest of you, stay to your right to be scanned."

Spock remained quiet, resuming his regular breathing now that the air was free of smoke. A nurse with light hair called the Vulcans forward one by one, scanning each and directing them to biobeds, to chairs, to the adjoining room to wait. She moved the scanner over Spock and pursed her lips as she made sense of his readings. Smiling at him faintly, she looked down and blushed, and waved him to the waiting area. Curious.

The waiting area was small, but Spock was grateful for the room's confined space. The combined body heat of so many crammed together helped ward against the cold from the ship's human-standard temperature. Vulcan hearing was sharper, more acute than a human's. Spock overheard rushed conversations from the injured humans having their wounds dressed, from the medical staff whispering among themselves. The first officer—he'd only been a lieutenant in Engineering this morning—was trying to dismantle the drill. Vulcan's destruction was imminent. They had only minutes.

Spock attempted to meditate where he stood. There he would find clarity. He descended easily into his subconsciousness, the room around him becoming muffled, the human cries all but mute to his ears. Inhale. Exhale. Spock focused on a single bright point in his mind and drew closer to it. Inhale. Exhale. The bright point intensified, and Spock turned his mental eyes away from it momentarily as he felt for it with hands extended. He wrapped fingers around it, capturing the brilliance in his palms. He stood centered in the blackness, the light trapped, and saw what he must do.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim had never been so glad to feel his body slam into the ground as he was when he opened his eyes on the transporter pad, shoulder aching, Olson wrapped around him. They'd had a second, maybe less, before being crushed against the jagged red rocks.

"So much for Starfleet issue 'chutes, huh?" he joked and rolled over onto his back. Olson coughed hard and sat up. Jim's chest heaved, and he was glad for the cool recycled air of the ship. The chute pack pressed into his shoulder blades, but he couldn't move just yet. His hand stung; he must have cut it on something. He could feel the blood slowly oozing from his skin where it parted, a warm wet feeling that made his stomach turn. Beside him, Olson chuckled and shook his head. He stood and dusted his legs, offering a hand to Jim and pulling him to his feet as Sulu rushed into the transporter room.

"Status?"

"The drill is destroyed," Jim said. "What's that thing they dropped in?"

"No idea," Sulu said. "Chekov says they're creating a singularity. The planet's going to implode any minute."

"Fuck," Jim swore. "We've got to get out of here. We've got to go after that ship."

"Olson," Sulu said. "Get back to Engineering. We've got to get that warp core stablized and running cool before the planet implodes. I need every man at his station."

"I'll go with him, captain," Jim offered, starting off after Olson who was already half-running out the door.

"Kirk, with your hand in that state, you'll get blood all over the controls," Sulu said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Get yourself to sickbay and then report to the bridge."

ooo ooo ooo

"You must allow me to beam down to the planet's surface," Spock said, eying the cadet who blocked the way to the corridor. He could easily overpower him. A simple pinch to his neck would take him down long enough for Spock to get past him, get to the transporter room without the cadet alerting security.

"No one is beaming anywhere," the cadet said but not unkindly. "We're seconds from warping out of here."

"The elders," Spock said, and he attempted to keep desperation out of his voice. "They must be evacuated."

"I'm sorry," the cadet said. "I have my orders."

"They safeguard the essence of our culture." Surely that was something any being could understand. The cadet appeared sympathetic but shook his head.

"My mother—" Spock implored, but his effort was in vain. The ship shifted beneath his feet and launched into warp. In the back of his mind, he felt the bond with his mother tighten uncomfortably, as though it were being stretched. He reached out toward it and—

It severed, the broken end swinging back and forth, back and forth in his mind. He gasped. What had just happened? Why was there a deadening silence in his mind? He combed his mind over and over, searching for her presence. His mind was blank where her touch belonged. The frayed rope swung heavy, like a pendulum from one of the Terran clocks she collected. He could not stand it and pulled back from his own mind. Instinct made him raise a hand to his temple, to touch his own meld points. Spock recoiled, unable to bear the pressure of his own fingers. A second rope snapped, a third. All around him, he heard similar gasps, noted ashen faces, mouths dropped open and abruptly covered.

There was only one possibility. Vulcan was gone, and his mother was dead, Sarek too.

In Spock's mind, the collective moaning over billions of lost lives rose to a crescendo as the grief overtook the stand of Vulcans just outside of sickbay. The pain was so immediate it was palpable without physical contact. His own shields were failing, his breathing shallow and rapid, uncontrolled. He bent at the waist, breathing hard through his mouth. He covered his face with his hands and slumped against the wall. So many lives lost. The sickness rose in his throat, and he pushed his way to a waste receptacle, emptying the contents of his stomach. A firm hand came to rest on his shoulder. He flinched away from it.

"Sorry," a voice said. "You okay?"

"Obviously not," Spock answered, pressing a fist to his mouth.

"You want to sit down?"

"That...that would be wise."

The voice guided him to a fresher, to the edge of a counter and closed the door behind them, muffling the chaos. Spock was grateful for the intervention, lest his lapse in control be witnessed by his peers. Spock focused his attention on the source of the voice. He was human, new to the service from the looks of him. He bore no stripes on his uniform, yet there was an air of command about him. He regarded Spock with a frown and his arms crossed over his chest. Spock wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Do you want a mint or something?"

Spock shook his head.

"I was just down here to get my hand bandaged," the human continued, and Spock supposed he was attempting to fill the silence.

"What happened to Vulcan?" Spock asked.

The human shifted in what Spock interpreted as discomfort. "They, uh, they created a black hole. At the center of the planet."

"I see."

"I'm so sorry."

Spock's mother had often expressed regret unnecessarily over events and circumstances which were not her doing. It was a way humans had, she had always explained, of expressing sympathy. Spock did not acknowledge the man's statement, but he did not dismiss it. He found the human's presence oddly soothing, if only because it prevented Spock from focusing on the broken bonds in his head while he reconstructed his shields.

The scientist in Spock took over, and it studied the human. His uniform was dusty and torn in places. His fingers were long and even in diameter from where they began at the knuckle to where they ended in well-shaped fingernails. He wore a bandage on his left hand, and his face was swollen. No doubt he had been engaged in a struggle. He was Spock's age, perhaps younger, with lighter hair and intense blue eyes. Spock felt a jolt of something looking at him, and his cheeks warmed. He looked away.

"You're sure I can't get you anything?" the man asked.

"I do not require anything at this time."

"As long as you're okay, I'm gonna leave you here. I've got to get back to the bridge. Sulu can't run this thing by himself."

Spock nodded once in understanding. The human raised his hand as though he might touch Spock again but raked it through his hair instead and left.

ooo ooo ooo

It hadn't taken long to convince Sulu that the best course of action was to pursue Nero and get Pike back. Sulu agreed that regrouping with the rest of the fleet would lose them too much time. Jim expected to be sent down to Engineering to help with repairs, but Sulu ordered him to stay on bridge, so Jim hovered around the captain's seat. They hashed out possibilities for gaining access to the Romulan ship.

"We could beam on board," Jim suggested.

"We have no idea as to the internal layout of that ship," Sulu said. "We could beam into the core."

"Well, we don't have our shuttle, but we could borrow one of the Vulcan ones."

"How many do we have?"

"Five, sir."

"That's it?"

"There were others that got away from the planet before..." Jim said, trailing off. "They can't move at warp, but they'll be picked up, or they might make it to Delta Vega. There's a base there. I'm sure the Federation already has ships on the way."

"Have we re-established communication with Starfleet yet?" Sulu called over his shoulder.

"Not yet," Uhura replied, flicking switches and squinting as she listened to her headset.

"Keep trying."

"Sir," Chekov called. "Detecting unauthorized access to water turbine control board. Someone just beamed onto the ship."

"We're at warp," Sulu said, dumbfounded. "Seal the engineering deck. Kirk, go find out what's going on."

"I'm on it," Jim said and headed for the turbolift.

Jim wasn't sure what to expect when he arrived in Engineering, but it certainly wasn't an older Vulcan and a pale human shivering beneath a thin Federation-issue towel. Cupcake had his phaser raised, set to stun.

"Lower your weapon," Jim said quietly, knocking him on the shoulder. "Between the two of us, I don't think they're going anywhere."

He turned and scrutinized the two of them. The Vulcan was older than he'd first appeared, with light gray hair and wrinkled hands. The man's lips were slightly blue. He wore a Starfleet uniform, though an older style, and was soaking wet.

"You get one chance to tell me the truth," Jim said. "How did you manage to beam aboard this ship? It's moving at warp."

The Vulcan's eyes sparkled.

"James Tiberius Kirk," he said fondly. Jim started.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked. "And how do you know my name?"

"I am Spock," the Vulcan said, looking at Jim expectantly. Jim raised both hands in frustration.

"That's the second time I've heard that name today!"

Spock's face went slack. He blinked, eyes widening slightly, and swept his gaze around the immediate area.

"You do not know who I am, Captain?" Spock asked.

"Commander," Jim corrected.

Spock raised an eyebrow in what looked to be genuine surprise. "You are not the captain?"

"Pretty sure that's what I just said. I'm acting Commander James T. Kirk, USS _Enterprise_. You beamed illegally onto a Federation starship. Do you have anything to say before I throw your asses in the brig?"

"Nero was successful in destroying Vulcan," Spock said. "We must stop him before he can reach Earth."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about him?"

"He is a particularly troubled Romulan."

"And you," Jim said, turning to the man, who had a bit of pink on his cheeks now. "Who are you?"

"Montgomery Scott," the man replied, his teeth still chattering. "I realize my timing is a wee bit off, but is there anything to eat on this ship?"

Jim narrowed his eyes and huffed. "If I get you food, do you agree to tell me how you beamed onto this ship?"

Mr. Scott cast a nervous glance to Spock. "Uh," he said. "Yes."

Jim motioned to Cupcake, and the four of them headed out of Engineering. Instead of taking Spock and Mr. Scott to the brig, Jim decided one of the science labs would suffice, since they weren't being actively manned. He sat across a high counter on a stool, drumming his fingers on the surface while Mr. Scott devoured a plate of replicated sandwiches. Spock was still looking at him with a too-familiar expression, and Jim felt the strange urge to open up to him, like he knew Spock somehow. Looking at him, Jim felt, well, like Jim. It wasn't the way he felt when Pike looked at him, like he was filling the role his father should have, or even the way Bones looked at him, like a friend who wondered if you were half off your rocker. Spock looked proud, almost reverent. He looked happy. Jim ran a finger beneath his collar.

"So are you going to tell me how you knew my name back there?" he asked.

"Forgive my presumption," Spock said. "I was merely pleased to see you again, old friend."

"What," Jim chuckled, "are you from the future or something?"

"He is," Mr. Scott said through a full mouth. "I'm not."

"It is true," Spock agreed.

"You're kidding," Jim said.

"Vulcans do not kid," Spock assured him. "I am from your future, or rather, what would have become your future had it not been for Nero."

"Come again?"

"If you will permit it," Spock said, rising from his seat to walk around the counter to Jim. Cupcake fingered his phaser, but Jim shook his head as Spock reached out a hand to his face.

"What are you going to do?" Jim asked.

"Our minds," Spock said. "One and together."

Jim jerked back, putting a hand up between them. "You're gonna read my mind?"

"No, Jim. I wish to join our minds, so I might impart my journey to you. It is easier this way."

"Commander," Cupcake said. Jim shook him off. He stared Spock down, but Spock didn't flinch.

"Okay," he said after a long pause. "Do it. But just remember I have no problem throwing an old man in the brig. Don't test me."

"I have no desire to."

"Good."

Wrinkled fingers pressed to his face and the next thing Jim knew, he was warping one hundred twenty-nine years forward.

ooo ooo ooo

It was during the journey back to Earth that Spock realized the third bond, the thin broken filament swaying gently but surprisingly without pain, belonged to T'Pring. It had been many years since he thought of her. He had agreed to their bonding when he was seven; indeed, he had been proud to do so. His clan was an important one, the house of Sarek honorable, and Spock would be bonded to a full-blooded Vulcan of equal standing. Even at seven years of age, he understood the significance of the pairing, why his father had insisted upon it, despite his mother's quiet protests. He understood she wished him to marry for love, but Spock did not see the logic in basing a lifetime partnership on such an unsteady emotion.

He had often wondered why Sarek married his mother. Sarek had always told him it was done logically. He had never asked his mother her motivation. Now he could not. He wondered what her answer would have been.

Spock had soon learned that T'Pring's investment in their future was less than his. He could feel her indifference toward him, at times a slight disdain. Once, he felt a flare of affection through the bond they shared. Theirs was never strong like the connection he shared with his mother, more like spider's silk he had once observed on Earth, invisible until the wind caught it, becoming visible as a reflection of sunlight for a moment. He rejoiced in it until it became clear the affection was not intended for him, and from that day forward he shielded from her, dreading the day the burning of The Time would take him and bond him to one that did not, could not want him.

Perhaps his mother had been right.

Severing was not painful. Having shielded from her for so long, he felt no different with her imminent loss. He allowed himself to mourn her once. _Rom-halan_, he thought in parting.

He sat on the observation deck, which had been laid out with blankets and emergency rations. The ship had left Earth so quickly, it did not hold its regular stock of supplies. Even fully equipped, they would not have anticipated an additional four hundred passengers.

Spock first noticed the Vulcan after he took his evening meal. He ate little and only out of obligation. As he chewed, disconnected from what he ate—he did not taste or smell it—his eyes fell to where the Vulcan stood. He stood beside the window, looking out toward the stars. He was the only one looking outside of the ship, and Spock took note of this. He recognized the curve of the Vulcan's shoulders, the angle of his head. For one glorious moment, he believed himself to have been wrong, the pain in his head, the broken bond to be the result of his planet's loss. He rose from the bench, walking forward, maneuvering around children clinging to adult legs. The height was correct, yes, and the build of his body. It must be. It had to be.

"Father," he called out. The Vulcan turned, and Spock realized his error. The man was elderly, clearly older than his father by half a century. Spock did not know him, and yet there was a familiarity to his face, a sign of recognition in the way his eyes widened. An elder clan member, perhaps?

"Forgive me," Spock said. "I am Spock, son of Sarek. I mistook you for my father."

There was a glint—would Spock term it amusement?—in his eyes. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, his voice sending a chill through Spock's skin.

"I am not our father."

Spock stared at him, repeating the five simple words in his head. Was it possible? Time travel was no longer a theory. It was possible, he knew, to travel between gaps in time. The Romulan ship, he had heard whispered among _Enterprise_ crewmembers, had come from the future. Could a version of himself have travelled with it? Spock recognized the raise of his own eyebrows, the point of his ear—it had always rounded just more than he liked, an echo of his humanity. Yes, he reasoned. It was possible. He stared at his own aged face.

"You are not a member of Starfleet," his elder self observed, casting a glance at his robes.

"I am not," Spock said. "I attended the Vulcan Science Academy."

"I see." There was a tightening in his face, an expression Spock recognized. He was deciding whether to speak his mind.

Spock found he was curious about the question. If this was indeed a future version of himself, he would have the same background and education as Spock. Yet this older version had asked, as though he was surprised by Spock's profession. He frowned. The facts did not align.

"You attended Starfleet," he stated.

"Yes," his elder self confirmed. "It is curious that you did not."

"I desired it," Spock confessed, though he did not know why.

"And yet you accepted admission to the Vulcan Science Academy?"

"I graduated at the top of my class."

"I would expect us to perform at nothing less than our full ability. May I inquire as to what changed your mind?"

"My— _our_ mother," Spock said quickly. "The council considered her to be a disadvantage. I wished to prove them wrong."

"And she is the reason I chose Starfleet," his elder self said. "How is it possible that you have chosen this path?"

Spock shook his head.

"I wonder," his elder self continued, "if Nero's presence in this universe has caused more disruptions than I anticipated. I have become aware of the _Kelvin's_ destruction, the loss of Jim's father."

"Jim?" Spock asked, cocking his head because the name had been uttered in a tone that suggested he should not only know this Jim but feel a shared grief for his loss.

"Jim was my captain," he said quietly. Spock was surprised by the blatant emotion in his voice, the softness. "He was also my friend."

The word startled Spock, who had never considered any being by this term except I-Chaya, perhaps. I-Chaya had never seen Spock as anything more or less than what he was. Theirs had been a mutual liking. His elder self must have sensed his confusion, because he said, "I, too, considered the concept to be unnecessary, even shameful when I was your age. I met Jim when I was thirty-six, and I served under him for many years. We relied on one another. Over time, I came to consider him my friend."

"He was human?"

"Yes. He _is_ human, in fact."

"He is with you?"

"No," the elder Spock said. "My Jim, my captain, is gone. The James Kirk of this universe lives."

"How do you know this?" Spock asked as the answer came to him. "He is on this ship?"

"As I had hoped you would be. Nothing is as it should be. In my reality, Jim was the captain, but it seems he is the first officer on this _Enterprise_."

Something in Spock started at the mention of the first officer, recalling what he had heard in sickbay, that the first officer had space-jumped onto the drill platform. He had been responsible for disabling it. For a terrible pause, Spock wondered if this person, this man he did not know who had become an integral part of him in another lifetime, had also perished? Illogical, he told himself, to ponder such things. Spock had not attended Starfleet Academy, and he would not serve under James Kirk.

"My presence here has altered your reality."

"Do you hold yourself responsible for the destruction of our planet?" Spock asked, clasping his arms behind his back.

"Were it not for my actions," the elder Spock said, "Vulcan would not have been destroyed."

"Show me," Spock said, stepping closer. He motioned to his older self's hand, which came to rest alongside his face. The touch of his mind was instant, and he attempted to shield from Spock all but the information leading to his presence in this universe. He imparted Nero's madness, the truth of the red matter, the reality that this universe had been forever altered and the elder Spock had no way of returning to his own timeline. Spock found he could push against the shields, lower them easily. They were his own, after all.

He longed for more evidence of himself in this second mind. He glanced about the memory stores, organized and compartmentalized exactly as his were, only the stores were greater in number. His elder self was in his own mind, so Spock pushed forward, accessing memories that were not his own. He felt his elder self struggle to sever the connection as Spock pushed in deep, but Spock grasped his wrist and held tightly. He forced the connection to continue. He saw himself attending Starfleet Academy, serving with a Captain Christopher Pike, being assigned to the USS _Enterprise_, and Jim. Somehow, Spock recognized his face. Jim. Jim. Jim was ubiquitous, filling block after block of the carefully structured memories. He was a handsome human in his early thirties when he first appeared, and aged gradually as the memories compiled. Spock was disgusted by how casually and frequently Jim had touched him. Surely a starship captain would be culturally sensitive. There was memory after memory of Jim's hand on Spock's arm, of Jim helping him to stand during an away mission, of T'Pring's rejection, of Jim rolled onto his back on the hot sands of Vulcan.

_Vulcan_. He had brought an outworlder to the kal-i-fee.

Spock accessed the next memory. His elder self tried to pull his hand free, but Spock held firm to his wrist and the hand trembled against his face.

_You must not do this_, a voice said, his own and yet not. _You do not understand_.

The memories began to shift, becoming increasingly tender and erotic. Jim's hand on his face, the feeling of his breath against Spock's skin as he slept, the smell and texture of his hair. _No_. Failure on the steps at Gol. Jim's consciousness mingled with his. Jim's hand within his. _No_. His own death and resurrection. Jim's eyes, rich golden-brown and blurred with tears. Jim's name on his lips. _No. No! _He would not do this.

Something welled up within Spock, a fear, the realization that he was capable of so much humanity, that so much of his life energy could be devoted to one man. Anger boiled within him, and he released the old Vulcan's wrist. The hand came away, and Spock clapped his own over the place where it had touched him.

"Are you human," he rasped, "or are you Vulcan?"

"I am Spock," his elder self replied, pale and stumbling. He slumped against the window.

"I am Vulcan," Spock said sharply. "My fate is not yours."

"You should not..." he gasped, "you should not have seen what you did. It is too soon. I beg you, do not give up such a friendship—"

Spock's anger coiled low in his belly, crouching like a le-matya preparing for a strike. His hands balled to fists—he felt his fingernails press against his skin—but before he could reach out and lock them around his own throat, he excused himself and headed for the nearest fresher. Once inside, he secured the door and leaned against the counter, observing his own face. He took four deep breaths. The anger skimmed over, an awareness, yes, but not capable of controlling him. It was wrong, what he had done. To invade the mind, to forcibly take another's thoughts, to remain where he was unwanted was tantamount to a crime. He had violated the mind of another.

His stomach twisted, and for the second time that day he was doubled over sick, glad for the solitude.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim was surprised to receive the message from Gary while the _Enterprise_ was docking. It took a minute for him to recognize the ID number. They hadn't talked in a couple years except for the occasional "Hey," if they saw each other around campus. The last time Gary had reached out to him, Bones had hidden Jim's comm for a day and a half, making him promise not to write back under threat of inoculation. The message was short, with a frankness that made Jim's heart beat faster. He stared at it openly.

**oo** Tell me you're okay.

Uhura gave him a questioning look, and he realized she'd been speaking to him.

"It's my mom," he lied, tilting the screen so she couldn't read it. "Just making sure I'm alive."

"That reminds me..." she said and pulled her own comm out.

Jim's eyes returned to the message. Was it a good idea to write back? If it had been Gary in Jim's position, wouldn't Jim want to know that Gary was alive? Even if they had truly hated each other, Jim reasoned, Gary deserved to know. This was so much bigger than the two of them. He wrote a quick reply.

**oo** Just a few scratches.

His finger hovered over the "send" key, and he pushed it with his eyes closed. A queasy feeling settled in his stomach, but Gary wrote back almost instantly.

**oo** Thank god.

Jim didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't write back again. He holed up in the apartment for a full twenty-four hours, refusing to go outside until Bones barked at him to get his uniform to the cleaner's. The first thing Starfleet wanted to do was organize a ceremony to honor Sulu and Jim for their valiant efforts in the assistance with the incident on Vulcan, which was what they called the last two days. Not a word about a crazy time-traveling Romulan and wormholes and the Klingon prison planet, or the fact that Vulcan imploded and everyone stranded on the surface was dead. And then there were the cadets.

Jim thought the ceremony was bullshit, but he attended because Sulu attended, and because Pike said he had to under threat of disinheritance. Jim didn't want to begin the search for Father Figure #4. There had been his own dad, of course, who was a ghost Jim was somehow supposed to live up to (and the funny thing about ghosts is they're incapable of error); Frank, who hadn't been a bad guy but didn't understand (or didn't want to understand, which was worse) that all of Jim's shenanigans and run-ins with Riverside P.D. were because he was genius-grade and bored as hell in Iowa; and Pike, who'd never taken any of Jim's shit, liked him in spite of it (maybe because of it) and was the first person, the first _man_, who'd ever challenged him. Jim could do a lot worse than Chris Pike as his mentor, plus he had the feeling Number One would be up his ass if he pissed Chris off right now, what with the wheelchair and the whole temporary paralysis thing.

Pike nudged him when his name was called, Bones elbowing his other side. Jim's hand had healed to the point he didn't need the bandage any more thanks to the handheld dermal regenerator Bones kept at their apartment. He shook Admiral Barnett's hand and proudly accepted his new position as official First Officer of the USS _Enterprise_, with Sulu as captain. Not bad for three years in the academy. As he and Sulu turned about face to acknowledge the applause, something made Jim glance up at the balcony to where Spock stood. He raised his chin slightly to the old man in acknowledgement. Gary was seated three rows in, and he smiled at Jim, who found himself smiling back.

Jim lingered after the ceremony concluded. He wasn't waiting for Gary, he told himself. If Gary happened to walk by and they happened to talk, that was just a coincidence. Bones had gone back to the apartment, so Jim stood with his arms folded over his chest and watched as cadets and officers exited the auditorium. Gary never walked past him. He must have used another exit. Jim tried to convince himself the unwelcome feeling in his stomach wasn't disappointment.

Pike caught him in the hallway outside the auditorium once the crowd had thinned and people he didn't know stopped slapping him on the back and saying congratulations.

"Kirk," Pike said, wheeling up to him. "You busy?"

"No, sir."

"Good," Pike said. "Come with me."

Jim thought maybe they were headed to a pizza place a few blocks away and was surprised when Number One stopped the aircar outside the Vulcan Embassy with a "Here you go, boys" and left them curbside.

"You like Vulcans, right?" Pike said, steering toward the entrance. He flashed his Starfleet ID, and Jim did the same. The door scanner beeped and the light turned red; they were granted access.

"Funny how their stop and go colors are backwards," Jim quipped.

"Well, when you have copper-based blood, tell me if the color green still makes you think _go_," Pike teased.

"Hadn't thought of that," Jim mused, and they went inside the building.

It was minimalist, clean lines and sparse decor but beautiful in a way that caught Jim's breath. He stared up at the high ceilings, the tall, arched windows, and inhaled air that was sickeningly sweet with incense.

"This way," Pike motioned, making a right down a brightly lit hallway with vaulted ceilings like a cathedral. Jim jogged to catch up, aware how loud his boots sounded in this alien, quiet environment. There were no voices, just the trickling of a fountain somewhere Jim couldn't see.

"This is where the evacuees are being kept," Pike explained. "The problem is, there's not enough room for all of them. The embassy has asked that we help locate temporary housing for as many as possible."

"So you want me to adopt a few of them?"

"Not a few, just one. Starfleet asked me to compare the list of survivors against a list of Starfleet applicants filed in the last five years, and there is one Vulcan whose scores were incredible, but he turned us down."

"And, what, Starfleet thinks I'll take this guy in for a few days, and talk him into enlisting out of, what, some kind of revenge?"

"Something like that." Pike sighed. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do, but we all have to do our part. Whether you convince this guy to enlist or not is your business—I won't even ask you about it—but please consider taking him in, just for a while, until we can get more temporary housing in place."

"Fine," Jim said, rolling his eyes. "What's his name?"

Pike pulled out his PADD and tapped the screen twice. "Spock. I can't pronounce the rest."

"You're shitting me."

"I am not," Pike said.

"What is it with that name? That's the third time in three days. Was everyone on Vulcan named Spock?"

"You're right," Pike said, rubbing his forehead. "I'd forgotten about that. I'm not exactly running on full dilithium crystals."

"Does this guy know he's coming with me? Better yet, did you mention anything to Bones?"

"You control your own roommate, kiddo."

"I'd better comm him," Jim said, covering his right ear on instinct even though the building was quiet. He held the comm up to his left. Bones didn't answer—probably on the couch with Christine—so Jim left him a brief voice message. "So I'm bringing home a Vulcan, apparently. Guess that means no steak for a while," and hung up.

The multi-purpose room had been converted into a shelter that housed at least 200, from Jim's quick estimate, mostly families with small children who clung to the Federation-issue gray blankets and looked at Jim with widened eyes. His eyebrows knit together, but he remembered something he'd learned in his Vulcan language class and shifted to the most neutral face possible. The children clutched at their parents' legs and some openly cried. One Vulcan woman turned her crying child away from Jim's eyes; he felt guilty and focused on the back of Pike's chair.

Standing along the wall were a large number of young Vulcans, some with their eyes closed, the others quiet and contemplative. Pike wheeled up to a Vulcan he obviously knew, because he smiled at him sadly and offered the traditional Vulcan greeting. Jim struggled to get his hand in the right configuration, but the Vulcan didn't acknowledge him anyway, so he gave up.

"I'm sorrier than you can imagine. This is Jim Kirk. Kirk, this is Solen. He served with me and Number One many years ago."

"Good to meet you," Jim said and Solen nodded to him.

"He's agreed to take Mr. Spock."

"You have our gratitude," Solen said. "Follow me." He walked past Jim in a swish of robes.

What struck Jim first was the quiet of the room, despite its many occupants. What struck him second was the young Vulcan man that Solen indicated to be Spock, whom Jim recognized right away as the one who'd gotten sick right after Vulcan imploded, and who regarded him blankly.

Now that they weren't in the middle of a crisis, he could really look at him. Spock wasn't much older than Jim. He had a severe look to him that made him appear more mature, but he couldn't be thirty. He looked like all of the other Vulcans Jim had ever seen, with dark hair in a short bowl cut and lack of expression. He was...good looking. Scary, but good looking, with a green flush high in his cheeks. He held a comm device and a PADD, and Jim noted the way his knuckles strained white from gripping them so tightly. He'd heard Vulcans had three times the strength of a human, and Jim had no desire to test that number.

"Uh," he said, looking nervously to Solen and then Pike and back to Spock. "I'm Jim. I guess you're staying with me for a few days."

"Indeed," Spock said.

"I don't know if you remember me," Jim continued, "but I actually met you in sickbay, just after..."

Spock's gaze fell to Jim's hands, then back to his face. "Of course," he said.

"You had a lot going on just then," Jim said. "I wouldn't remember me either."

He waited for Spock to say something else, raising both eyebrows in anticipation, but Spock's mouth formed a tight line.

"Well, okay," Jim said finally and turned to Pike. "Are you driving us or am I getting a cab?"

ooo ooo ooo

Spock was irrationally angry at the young man—_Jim_, he corrected himself—in the passenger seat. The embassy had no right to assign him alternate housing against his will. He was a Vulcan citizen; he had a right to remain at the compound with the other survivors. Surely with their race nearly extinct, staying together was logical? It was necessary to regroup and rebuild. But he knew that supplies were low, that there was little space for families who must and should remain together.

When Jim had first approached, Spock felt a sinking in his stomach, a stab of recognition. This face, though younger, was similar to the one from his elder self's memories. The man introduced himself as Jim. The facial structure was correct, the curve of his ear, the thickness of his neck. Was his elder self responsible for this? He had not seen him since they disembarked. Jim had stared at him, waiting for Spock to speak. Spock had been prepared to object, to insist on remaining at the compound, but he looked into Jim's eyes.

They were blue.

Had Spock's paranoia got the better of him, or had he fallen victim to the idiom that humans were so similar in appearance that distinguishing between them was difficult? Perhaps he was biased or more compromised by Vulcan's loss than he wished to admit. He went without protest.

Spock was silent except when answering direct questions during the ride to Jim's apartment, which took eleven standard minutes and forty-three seconds. The building was old, constructed of brick and four stories in height. It was not a practical use of space. Buildings on Vulcan extended high in the air, to make the most of the vertical space available. This was not Vulcan, Spock reminded himself. Vulcan no longer existed. He exited the car when Jim did, pausing to address Admiral Pike.

"Your assistance is appreciated," he said and stepped out.

It was cold on Earth. The air was damp, and Spock found himself shivering as he followed Jim in the front door and up two flights of stairs to apartment 3B. Jim pressed a thumb against a scanner over the doorknob, and there was a click which Spock presumed was the door unlocking.

"I'll get you programmed into the system," Jim said as he opened the door. The apartment had a strange odor. Spock noted dirty dishes in the sink, the pile of clothes strewn in the front hall. Jim bent over, picking up a pair of socks and shoving them into a small washing machine and pressing a button that began the cleaning cycle. "Sorry I didn't have time to clean up in here. I didn't realize we'd be having company."

"Think nothing of it," Spock said.

"So you'll be on the couch," Jim said, placing his hands on his waist, "unless that's too weird for you. I don't know how you are privacy wise. If that would bother you, I guess you can have my room while you're here."

"I have no wish to trouble you."

"It'll only be for a few days, right? Or I can throw an air mattress on the floor in my room if you don't mind sharing. At least that way it'll be quieter. We get a lot of foot traffic since we're by the staircase, and sometimes it's pretty loud in the living room."

"That would be acceptable," Spock decided, weighing the two options.

"I'll dig it out," Jim said. "It's in the closet somewhere. Uh, so anyway, the bathroom's through there. You can share with me. Kitchen's that way. We have a replicator, pretty standard. That's Bones's room. He's not here right now, probably at his girlfriend's, but you'll meet him later. Do you need any clothes? Do you want me to wash those for you?"

Spock looked down at his robes, still dusty from running across the desert to the evacuation point. Clinging to the fabric was the last remnants of his home world. The dust and sand particles were all that remained of Vulcan. He could not bear to see them washed away.

"No," he said firmly, but he softened his tone at the startled look on Jim's face. "It is unnecessary for you to perform such a task on my behalf. I am capable of washing my own clothing."

"Well, you're welcome to anything in my closet," Jim said, waving at it. "I think we're about the same size."

Spock did not wish to wear Terran clothing, but there were no immediate alternatives. _Kaiidth_. He nodded in understanding.

"You probably want to grab a shower," Jim said. "I'll get you a towel."

Spock did not, but he knew he should. It had been three standard days since he left home, but he found he had no drive to meet his basic needs. He had taken food only once, had consumed water only when his throat became dry and he could no longer swallow without difficulty. He had not slept. He had no desire to read, to speak with those around him. He wished only to sit quietly and sink into a meditative state, remaining there indefinitely.

Jim was kneeling on the floor, examining the contents of the small closet beside the adjoining bath.

"Here we go," he said, pulling out a towel and a stack of mis-matched sheets. "I'll find that air mattress while you're cleaning up, and then I'll get out of your hair."

"Clarify," Spock said.

"Huh? Oh, it means I'll leave you alone, let you have some peace and quiet."

Spock accepted the towel and went into the bath, closing the door behind him and engaging the privacy lock. He did not look in the mirror, turning toward the shower and studying the controls, adjusting the water to 101 degrees Fahrenheit, heavy pressure. It was not often he bathed with water. It was a rarer substance on Vulcan than Earth, so its conservation had been necessary. His father had ordered a deep soaking tub to be constructed for Spock's mother, and she had allowed Spock to swim in it as a child.

He took the emblem from his neck and laid it on the counter. The robe he slipped from his shoulders, folding it carefully, smoothing his hands over the fabric. Grains of sand fell from it onto the towel, and he stared at them. The sand on Vulcan was largely silicon dioxide, no different from sand's composition on Earth, but he felt he must preserve these particles, if only for posterity, to document what Vulcan had been. With the shower running, he looked to the counter, in the wall-mounted cabinet for something in which he could store the sand. He did not wish to ask his host for assistance. In the trash receptacle, he spotted a round orange vial with a white cap. A label had been torn from it. The cap fit snugly. It would do. Spock carefully rinsed it to remove any particles, dried it with a piece of tissue, and began the laborious task of easing the sand particles from the towel loops to his hand, carefully guiding them into the vial. He took the robe, held it two inches above the towel which he spread along the floor, and began to brush downward, watching the grains tumble free. They were concentrated at the hem though not numerous. He estimated there was just under a gram in total. He salvaged what he could, secured the vial tightly, and placed it on the counter.

Logical. It was logical to preserve any part of Vulcan possible.

Spock felt oddly exposed standing naked in another person's shower. His chest felt heavy as he lathered his hair and body. The soap that slithered down his legs to the white shower floor was tinged faintly red. He closed his eyes against the sight.

By the time Spock emerged from the bathroom, Jim had made up the bed. It was situated beneath the window and low to the ground. Spock tucked the vial next to his PADD, concealing them both with his folded robe. He would wash it tomorrow, perhaps. He found himself suddenly tired and crawled onto the bed, noting the way it sunk beneath the pressure from his elbow but evened out as he lay prone. He pulled the sheet and blanket to his chest. The room was warmer than when he had gone into the shower. Jim had raised the temperature at least five degrees.

Spock was asleep within twelve seconds and did not dream.

ooo ooo ooo

Bones got back to the apartment just before 2300 hours. The sound of the front door opening roused Jim from his doze on the couch. He'd been reading documentation about the _Enterprise_'s repairs and responding to multiple communications from Sulu about preparations for departure, even though they were at least a month out with no firm date. There was time to go home and visit, if he wanted, but his mother was off planet. That was the problem with being a Starfleet brat; his mom understood the challenges Jim faced, but she was never around to talk about them. She'd sent a vid that he had received that evening, just before his head dropped to his chest. She was, as he'd thought, wrenching for the USS _Tereshkova_ in the Laurentian system.

"You look beat," Bones observed as he collapsed onto the arm chair adjacent to the couch where Jim was sprawled. Jim stretched his arms over his head and yawned.

"It's been a long day," he said. "Did you get my message earlier?"

"No," Bones said, pulling out his comm. "I was distracted."

"Is that what you're calling her now?"

"Not everything is about sex, Jim."

"Okay, not _everything_."

McCoy scowled at him. "I just spent the last six hours with Christine..."

"Told you."

"...at the clinic looking for signs of post-traumatic stress disorder in a species that thinks smiling could kill you."

"You know," Jim said, "it's funny you mention that species."

"Why?"

"There's one asleep in my bedroom."

"My god, you could at least try to keep it in your pants for twenty-four hours."

"It's not like that," Jim said, powering off the PADD and placing it on the coffee table. He sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. "Pike asked me to give him a place to stay for a few days while they find more housing."

"Oh," Bones said. "Why didn't you stick him on the couch?"

"Thought he might prefer the privacy," Jim said. "I found that air mattress you used to let me crash on."

"So you're going to play roommates with a Vulcan," Bones said with a smirk. "I hope you realize this means you can't go bringing back the flavor of the hour. Maybe this will be a positive influence on you."

"You know, I don't get laid half as often as you think. Probably not even a quarter. Do you want a beer?"

"I'm turning in," Bones said, shaking his head and standing up. "And so should you."

"In a minute," Jim said, yawning again.

"I don't want to find you out here in the morning," Bones said, wagging a finger at him over his shoulder as he crossed the room. He closed the bedroom door behind him.

Jim chewed on his lip. He was hungry. He could go replicate something, or he could go to bed, try to sleep, and have a big breakfast in the morning. Actually, he wasn't sure if it was hunger he was feeling or apprehension. Maybe it would be better if he stayed out here on the couch. Spock had been asleep (or at least really darn quiet) for six hours. Jim didn't want to disturb him, but he needed sleep too. He'd just be as quiet as possible.

He switched off the lights in the living room, checked the lock on the front door, and tiptoed back to his bedroom. The door squeaked more than he'd ever noticed as he pushed it inward, inhaling through clenched teeth as though that would keep the sound to a minimum. He opened it only as wide as he needed to slip inside, then shut it gently. The room was dark. He stubbed his toe on the foot of his bed and hobbled to the left side, swearing under his breath. He kicked off his pants and shirt and crawled under the sheet, throwing the comforter to the end of the bed. He wouldn't need that as long as his bedroom was converted to a sauna.

He expected to fall asleep once his head touched the pillow, but he found himself staring at the ceiling, eyes half closed but mind wide awake. Spock's breathing was steady and slow. It wasn't often that Jim had another person in his bedroom. Not for sleeping, anyway. They usually left by now. Maybe they stuck around for a beer or glass of wine, but they didn't stay over. It was surreal to hear someone else in his room and stranger still that this was someone he'd spoken to for all of ten minutes. Even growing up he and Sam hadn't shared a room.

This wasn't permanent, he told himself. This was just until the _Enterprise_ launched, and then he'd have his own cabin and semi-private bath. He'd heard the regulation beds were more narrow than a twin. He'd gotten spoiled by the king-size he bought when Bones told him to move in already and get out of Gary's apartment. He'd been tempted to buy a double out of practicality, but Uhura said to screw it, get the biggest one possible and celebrate your independence. She'd refused to cuddle with him after, but Gaila made herself available a few times. Jim's thoughts drifted to her and he wondered which of the ships she had been assigned. It hadn't been the _Enterprise_.

In his sleep, Spock shifted. Jim held his breath, but Spock only muttered something and turned his head away. Jim counted rows of corn until he was so bored, his brain finally agreed to switch off.

Bones roused them with pancakes in the morning because Bones was an awesome best friend. Sure, he did things like threaten to give Jim exotic diseases when he put his shoes up on the coffee table, but he would also prepare a tall stack with chocolate chips and blueberries and hot syrup (the real stuff, not replicated or "that corn syrup nonsense," as Bones called it). Spock was still sleeping when the smell of pancakes wafted under the door. Jim brushed his teeth as quietly as possible and went out to meet Bones in the kitchen.

"I love you, man. Do I tell you that enough?" Jim asked, taking the proffered cup of coffee and drinking eagerly.

"Did your Vulcan get scanned yet?" Bones asked. "It's not like them to sleep this much."

"Well, he has been through a lot. Do you think I should wake him up?"

"No," Bones said, taking a seat at the round table and motioning Jim to sit. "Might as well let him rest. I don't suppose any of them really slept these past few days."

"Probably not," Jim said. He took four pancakes from the stack and doused them liberally with syrup. "Anyway, I don't know if he got scanned or not. All Pike told me was that he'd applied to Starfleet a few years ago but chose the VSA instead."

"And now Starfleet wants him to enlist. Typical," Bones spit.

"That's our military for you," Jim said, cramming an entire pancake into his mouth and leaning on an elbow.

"Where I come from, we have a little thing called _manners_," Bones said, shaking out a napkin and placing it on his lap before serving himself.

"Oh," Jim said through a mouthful of pancake. "Thanks for cooking breakfast."

Bones rolled his eyes. "What do they think you'll be able to do, exactly? Charm a Vulcan to death with your baby blues?"

Jim shrugged and swallowed. "I have no idea. Do you work today?"

"In a half hour," Bones said, checking his watch. "A doctor is never off duty. Are you going to be okay alone with him?"

"I think I can handle one Vulcan."

"Yeah, well..." Bones said. "Don't piss him off. They might seem stoic, but they can be mean bastards."

"I'll go easy on him," Jim said with a grin. Bones's comm chirped, and he swore under his breath.

"Christine's outside with the car," he said, spearing three bites and shoveling them into his mouth. He rose and set his plate down next to the sink. "You can clean up since I cooked."

"Sure, mom."

"Behave," Bones said and was out the door.

The second Bones was gone and Jim was sitting by himself in the kitchen, he was all too aware of how much noise every movement made. He could put on a vid, but he'd have to watch it with the volume low, which defeated the purpose of watching a classic with a great screenplay. He'd be better entertained trying to recite _Casablanca_ from memory over a second cup of coffee. He could go out for a while, but he honestly felt apprehension over leaving a stranger alone in his apartment. It wasn't like he and Bones had anything worth stealing, but the idea left a bad taste in his mouth. And what would Spock do if he woke up in Jim's apartment alone? He'd just lost his planet and his family. The least Jim could do was to sit quietly in the kitchen and wait, see if Spock needed anything when he finally woke up. Jim wanted to take a shower, but his shower head made a squealing noise when the pressure was turned to full. Jim didn't feel like scrubbing Bones's shower after borrowing it. ("It's not the germs, Jim. It's other people's hair. I can't stand it.")

Jim ate the rest of the pancakes, drumming his fingers on the table and staring at the kitchen wall. They really needed to hang artwork or a photo or something. What a bachelor pad. Living with Gary hadn't been a picnic, but his place had been...cool, Jim decided. Confident. It had suited him.

Dammit, he thought as his mind drifted in Gary's direction. This was usually when Bones whacked him over the head or Jim turned up the music to an uncomfortably loud level. He couldn't do that now, and Gary consumed him. He wondered what Uhura had meant when she told him Gary wanted to apologize. Strictly speaking, Gary didn't owe him an apology. They'd been friends. Friends who fucked, yes, but no more than that, no matter what Gary had implied with the soft looks he'd give Jim in the morning. They'd been friends, and Gary had lots of friends. Jim had thought that was enough until the day it just...wasn't. That was the first time Jim ever had to patch Bones up, holding the dermal regenerator over his knuckles.

"Um, thanks," he'd muttered.

"Yeah, well," Bones had grumbled, "we can pick up the rest of your stuff tomorrow."

Everything since Gary had been casual and, with the exception of a drunken night at the Shipyard when he'd accompanied Pike with a shuttle of first years, all female. (The guy was a townie. No one was the wiser.) Why did Gary have to do this now? Jim knew the answer to that, too. He pulled out his comm and set it on the table. Glancing to the door — Bones was definitely gone, right?—he composed a message mentally.

**oo** So I hear you want to see me.

No.

**oo** Uhura said you said hi.

What was he, twelve? Why was this so difficult? Why did Gary always reduce him to feeling like he was teetering on the edge of something? Fuck it. Gary would be lucky to have him again.

**oo** hey

He typed it and pressed "send." He held the mug of coffee to his lips in an act of nonchalance and waited. He hated that he stared at the comm and actually counted the seconds. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve—

Hey. Did Uhura mention I asked about you?

It was just like Gary to put Jim on the spot. Of course she'd told him. Gary probably knew that. So this was a test. The ball was in Jim's court for once. He decided not to write back right away, washing his plate and Bones's first, wiping down the counter. He waited three and a half minutes, then picked up his comm.

**oo** yeah

Gary's reply was almost instant.

**oo** So do you want to see me or not?

Jim's stomach twisted.

**oo** Sure

**oo** Today? Lunch?

Jim started to write "what time?" then swore to himself when he remembered his house guest.

**oo** actually today's not great. raincheck?

Jim set down his comm and pushed it a few inches away. The screen lit up.

**oo** OK

And again a few seconds later,

**oo** I really want to see you.

Jim's chest absolutely did not clench when he read those words. Spock woke up forty-three minutes after Gary's last message. Jim heard the bathroom door open and close, the quiet murmur of the tap while Spock presumably brushed his teeth. Had he even brought a toothbrush? Jim made a mental note to ask if he needed anything. They could walk to the store together, get whatever Spock needed and then do a liquor run. Synthehol wasn't going to cut it tonight.

ooo ooo ooo

Spock walked quietly along the sidewalk beside Jim with his arms loosely at his sides. He was uncertain why he had agreed to accompany him. Jim had a preoccupation with Spock's oral hygiene and had insisted on escorting Spock to a nearby store to procure a Terran-style toothbrush. Spock had one from the embassy in the small sack he carried. For some reason, Spock had not told him, merely nodded and followed Jim out of the apartment after Jim located his keys beneath a dish towel. This man would serve as first officer on a Federation starship?

"So I've lived in San Francisco for three years, but I'm originally from Iowa," Jim offered as they walked past a restaurant which was cooking some type of meat. Spock turned his nose up at the offending odor. Spock supposed Jim's words were an effort to fill the silence, what his mother had called "small talk." It was an apt name, for its value was indeed negligible. Beside him, Jim cleared his throat. "What about you?"

"I have never lived in San Francisco," Spock replied.

"No, I mean..." Jim began. "I meant to ask about where you lived..." His voice trailed off, and his face looked pinched. Spock wondered if he had stepped on something sharp. "So you went to the Vulcan Science Academy, huh?"

"I did."

"Yeah, they didn't try to recruit me," Jim said and gave an aborted laugh. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I would not have expected them to do so."

"Sorry," Jim said, shaking his head. "Just my attempt at humor. Admiral Pike found me in a bar and talked me into enlisting in Starfleet. I heard you applied a few years ago?"

"Yes," Spock confirmed. "It was my intention to attend Starfleet in the event the Vulcan Science Academy did not accept my application."

He wasn't certain why he had given this information to Jim. He understood from his mother and from his limited interaction with humans through his father's ambassadorial work that they often recounted shared experiences. It was how they forged interpersonal relationships. Spock supposed his human half was stimulated, surrounded by his mother's planet, her customs, her people.

He wished to remain on Earth for the shortest duration possible. Surely a colony would be selected, and the surviving Vulcans given the opportunity to rebuild. It was their duty, as the surviving members of the race, to preserve what remained of Vulcan culture, history, science, and logic; to aid in the repopulation of the species. Likely sterile due to his mixed heritage, Spock could provide little assistance on that front. He had yet to be tested for reproductive viability. It would not have been an issue for many years yet, not until the Time and challenge. He could certainly contribute to child rearing, perhaps take on the parental responsibilities for an orphaned Vulcan youth. He suspected there were many who had been placed in transports when the planet had only moments remaining, with Surak's blessings upon them.

He allowed his mind to touch on his own parents, on the empty place where their presence once lingered. He had all but fully shielded that part of himself.

"I didn't have a back-up plan," Jim admitted. Spock noted he thrust his hands into the pockets of his denim pants. "You ever been to Earth before?"

"Yes," Spock said, because it was true, and Jim had asked a binary question. It did not require further explanation. The sidewalk became uneven, and Jim reached out a hand as if to steady Spock, who stepped away from it.

"Sorry," Jim said, "I wasn't sure if you saw the cracks back there."

Spock wondered why Jim doubted his observational skills. He was about to say as much when something in Jim's pocket made an electronic chirping sound, and Jim pulled out a communicator.

"Shit," Jim cursed. Spock did not care for Jim's word choice but did not say so. From Jim's tone of voice, Spock inferred he was upset. As Spock had no interest in what upset Jim, he did not inquire as to the reason for his ill manners. Jim sighed and tucked the communicator away in his pocket without placing a call or responding to a message. "I don't suppose you wanna grab lunch with me and a friend of mine."

"I do not," Spock said.

"I can't decide if your honesty is refreshing or irritating," Jim muttered.

Spock was oddly compelled to reply. "It would be illogical to conceal the truth," he said.

"This is the only day he can meet up for a while."

"You are unable to meet with him?"

"Well, I've got..." Jim motioned to Spock.

"You are not obligated to provide me with your company," Spock said. "If your concern is based on the concept of a stranger alone in your residence, I will return to the embassy until such a time as you are able to return."

"No," Jim said. "That's unnecessary. I'd feel like an asshole if you did that. I just feel bad leaving you alone."

"I prefer solitude," Spock said.

"Oh."

"It is conducive to meditation."

"Is that what you were doing all morning? Meditating?"

"In part," Spock replied.

"You really wouldn't mind if I left you by yourself? It would just be for a couple hours."

"I would not."

In the store, Jim purchased a toothbrush and a package of what Spock identified as prophylactics.

"I must apologize," Spock said when they were once again outdoors. "It is customary for a house guest to prepare the morning meal for his host, yet I did not offer to do so."

"It's cool. Besides, Bones likes to cook. He doesn't like people messing with his kitchen. I'm restricted to replicator only after setting off the smoke alarms making toast."

"You are unfamiliar with how to prepare food?"

"Nah," Jim said, "but I'll let Bones think that as long as he keeps making me blueberry pancakes."

ooo ooo ooo

Gary was six minutes late.

Jim stared down at his hands, shaking around the cup of coffee. More caffeine wasn't what he needed right now. A shot of tequila would probably serve him better, calm his nerves. He tried to steel himself against the trembling but found he couldn't control it or the way his heart raced, the nervous flush of blood on his neck and face.

_This is just lunch_, he told himself.

How long had it been since they last saw each other—a year? It couldn't be that long. Hadn't they run into each other outside Jim's _Ethics in Inter-Planetary Diplomacy_ seminar? Seven minutes. Maybe Gary wasn't coming. Maybe he'd been stuck in traffic. Maybe he forgot. Jim could message him, but he should probably wait a full ten minutes before that, he reasoned.

Jim still felt like an ass leaving Spock alone in the apartment (he wouldn't tell Bones about that, he decided, unless it came up), but Spock had merely nodded at Jim when he handed him the toothbrush and retreated to the bedroom. He shut the door, and Jim supposed he was meditating. He hadn't bothered to say goodbye when he left.

Jim turned his head every time the door chimes to the coffee shop sounded, and the eighth time Gary passed through the entrance. He still looked the same, seductive and glowing, with his eyes narrowed in a smile as he approached Jim and pulled him up and into a hug. He'd filled out since Jim last held him; his cheek was rough with stubble.

"Hey," he said against Jim's ear.

"Hey," Jim said, patting his back and hating the smile he could feel appropriating his own face.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Gary said, squeezing him tighter so their chests pressed together. Gary wore a leather jacket. It was the one item Jim had left behind, because Gary had borrowed it so often. He wondered if Gary wore it on purpose.

"You too," Jim said, pulling away and settling back in his chair, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. "How come you weren't out there with us?"

"I was on medical leave," Gary explained. "Some kind of stomach bug. I threw up so much they had to admit me and pump me full of fluids. I was in a hospital bed when they were giving out ship assignments."

"Bet you're glad in retrospect."

"What," Gary chided, "you don't think I would have made it onto the _Enterprise_?" He must have realized the brashness of his remark, because he frowned and wiped his hands on his pants. "I just can't believe..." he said and didn't finish.

"Me either," Jim said in reply.

"So, this is a nice place," Gary said, shrugging off his coat. "They've got a fireplace and everything."

"Bones and I come here a lot."

"You two are still friends?"

Jim laughed through his closed mouth. "Yeah," he said. "We still share an apartment."

"Just friends?"

Jim raised his eyes and wondered for the first time if Gary had actually been jealous over Bones at some point. Toward the end of their first year at the academy, Jim had been spending more and more time at Bones's apartment, because it had been easier than finding yet another red academy jacket on the living room floor that wasn't his and wasn't Gary's. Sometimes the jacket wasn't red. Sometimes it had been a pair of high heels.

Gary seemed to sense what he was thinking, because he touched Jim's arm. "I was an asshole to you," he said.

Jim shrugged. "Water under the bridge, right?"

Gary's hand on his arm tightened, and then he pulled it away just as quickly as he'd reached out. He fingered the edge of the table. "So, are you seeing anyone?"

"Not really," Jim said.

"Good," Gary said, breaking into a familiar grin. Jim cleared his throat and looked away. "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee. Do you want another?"

"Sure," Jim said, "as long as you're buying."

They moved to the table beside the fireplace, the furthest they could get from the baristas, and Gary settled in across from Jim. He began to recount the last year, how his new roommate was a shut-in and never left the apartment unless an alarm sounded, how impressed he was with Uhura's ability to learn Vulcan. Jim told him about beating the _Kobayashi Maru_.

"Don't tell me you cheated," Gary said, picking a raisin from a scone and popping it into his mouth.

"Okay," Jim said. "I won't."

"Oh, my god," Gary said. "You did. You actually cheated on the _Kobayashi_ freaking _Maru_. Are you nuts?"

Jim shrugged.

"That's ballsy."

"Thanks."

"You know, I've missed you," Gary said finally. Jim coughed to cover a laugh and shook his head.

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious. I really missed you. We always had fun, just like this."

Gary frowned, and then he got up from the table and came around to sit next to Jim. He set down his coffee and pulled his chair up in front of the fireplace, leaning so his forearms rested on his knees. Even in the daylight, the fire illuminated his face, caught on his high cheekbones, the veins in his forearms. Jim had forgotten Gary's magnetism, his intensity, the way it was hard to look away from him. Jim swallowed hard and did his best.

Gary was looking at a spot on the floor between his knees, his hands folded together.

"When I heard what happened, realized you were out there," he said slowly, "I hacked the system. Looked up the ship assignments. I tried messaging you. I probably sent you twenty messages, even though I knew you wouldn't be able to receive them."

"Thanks, I guess?" Jim said.

"I want to do this the right way," Gary said, glancing to his right and catching Jim's eyes for a second. He dropped them again. "No bullshit. You and me, for real."

Jim's mouth was dry. He didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted this badly, but the other reminded him of what it had been like when things between him and Gary had gone sour. Was it worth risking that again? Things were going right for him. He had an assignment on a Constitution-class starship, was a decorated hero, and had a few friends who genuinely cared for him. Not bad for twenty-five.

Gary squeezed his thigh. "What do you say?"

ooo ooo ooo

The voices broke through Spock's meditation, and he tried to block them out, but they were loud and agitated. He closed his eyes and imagined great walls growing up around him, imagined them choking the sound of two men conversing. The voices remained steady, and he recognized them as belonging to Jim and a male he could not identify. He deduced the voice likely belonged to Jim's roommate.

"No."

"Bones..."

"No! You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"Listen, I swear when he first got back in touch with me—"

"Are you forgetting what happened last time?"

"Of course not."

Spock shifted from a kneeling position to sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the air mattress. He inhaled deeply and allowed his heart to beat eleven times before he exhaled. He repeated this, waiting thirteen beats this time, and fifteen on the next breath. It worked to refocus his mind away from the conversation, which grew louder and became harder to block the more Spock tried.

"I thought you finally had it through your head that he's not good for you."

"It's been a couple years," Jim said. "You don't think people can change?"

"Inherently, no," Bones said. "Oh, you can amend behavior, sure, but personality wise we're the same throughout life."

"I thought you weren't a psychiatrist."

Human conversation was inane. Spock had never before failed to tune out his surroundings. Again, he focused on a single point in his mind, honing his concentration. The voices dulled. Spock concentrated harder, everything in his mind winking out until his consciousness was the lone bright spot, Vulcan's star, Alam'ak. The thought caused him to stumble mentally. The star's light grew, and it was joined by Behr'ak, its sister star. Spock's hands began to shake, so he clasped them together more tightly and attempted to will the suns away. He felt the ragged edge of his mother's bond—his shields had slipped without his knowledge—and from deep within him boiled a rage that rose to his throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth to cover the moan which escaped.

"Why can't you just be happy for me?" Jim's voice cut through Spock's misery, and then he was on his feet, moving swiftly to the door and pushing it open. He stood in the doorway and regarded Jim and a member of Starfleet in a blue tunic with a medical insignia pin on his chest. He was a medical doctor, Spock deduced. Jim's arms were crossed over his chest, and he was scowling. So was the doctor. It was twenty-two seconds before Jim noticed him watching them, and his expression changed. It fell, was perhaps the only word Spock could think to describe the way the anger abated and morphed into an expression he had seen his own mother wear when Sarek left for a diplomatic mission and she remained behind on Vulcan.

"Sorry," Jim said, dropping his arms and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. "You were probably trying to meditate."

Spock did not say anything in reply, but he glanced to the doctor and back and Jim with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh," Jim said, his eyes widening. "This is Leonard McCoy. Bones, this is Spock. He's staying with us for a while."

"Pleased to meet you," McCoy said. Spock glanced at him.

"Greetings," he said but did not come into the room further.

"Are you hungry?" Jim asked. "I was thinking of ordering a pizza."

"We're not done talking about this," McCoy said and pointed a finger in Jim's direction. Jim looked back at Spock.

"Pizza?" he repeated.

"I am unfamiliar with that food," Spock said.

"It's bread and tomato sauce with cheese on top," Jim said. He paused and cocked his head. "Do you eat cheese?"

"Not with regularity."

"And usually I get pepperoni or sausage on top, but we could order vegetables or mushrooms or something."

Spock found himself nodding. "That is acceptable."

"You're welcome to sit out here, by the way," Jim said. "I promise we're done fighting."

"For now," McCoy said, indicating Jim with a jerk of his thumb. "Can you believe they're making this one first officer on a starship?"

"I made a similar observation earlier today," Spock admitted.

"Hey!" Jim frowned, though Spock noted a curve to his lips. "I was going to eat vegetables for you."

"It is unnecessary for you to alter your eating habits for my benefit. I shall replicate a suitable meal."

"You shall sit on the couch," Jim said, and Spock detected his tone to be mocking yet not unkind. "And I'm ordering _two_ pizzas."

It would be ungracious to disregard such a request from his host, so Spock sat on the couch beside Dr. McCoy and folded his hands politely on his knees. Jim went into the kitchen, and Spock could hear him speaking with someone, presumably the person who would be responsible for preparing their meal.

"Jim thinks I worry too much, but I have to ask—have you been scanned for shock?" McCoy asked.

"I have," Spock replied.

"I'm a medical doctor, so if you find yourself in need of advice, _medical _advice that is, come talk to me."

"Are you familiar with Vulcan biology?"

"It's limited," McCoy said, "but I have a good amount of experience treating patients after a disaster."

"I am in control of my emotions," Spock said.

"Well...the offer stands."

"Your assistance is appreciated."

"So," McCoy said, and Spock noted the way his body language changed as the subject of his conversation did, leaning back on the couch and allowing his knees to drop apart slightly. Spock straightened. "What line of work are you in?"

"I am a geologist," Spock replied.

"Earth science," McCoy said knowingly.

"A narrow-minded definition," Spock retorted, "as I study the composition of many planets in addition to Earth."

"Of course," McCoy said. "My apologies. What's your primary focus?"

"Most recently," Spock said. "I have been analyzing ancient sandstone deposits from the Shival Flats, to determine patterns in my planet's history, in order to document how it must have looked in the past. Record keeping was nonexistent prior to the reformation."

"Reformation?"

Spock eyed him narrowly. "Humans comprise the bulk of Starfleet and consider yourselves to be explorers, so it is curious that you are largely ignorant of the histories of those alien races with whom you interact."

"Well, _you_ don't know what pizza is."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said and wondered if continuing the conversation was wise. He decided to press forward. "Vulcans were once a savage race ruled by emotion. Under Surak's guidance, we became a people of logic."

"Oh, _that_ reformation."

"You are aware of it?"

"Sure," McCoy said. "Surak's name is in the history books. I didn't realize you meant back that far."

When Jim reentered the room, he held a glass bottle in his right hand and sprawled on the armchair.

"Anyone else want a beer?" he offered.

"Nice of you to ask, now that you're already sitting," McCoy replied.

"Well, I figured you'd say it's still a little early in the day, and I know Vulcans don't drink."

"We do not consume alcohol," Spock confirmed. "However, I do consume liquids."

Jim's face shifted, and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Shit," he said. "Did you want some water? Or juice? I can replicate you something."

"I am not thirsty," Spock said. "I merely sought to clarify your statement."

Jim regarded him for a moment, then smiled and laughed. "I like you," he said. "You're funny."

"My statement was not intended to be humorous."

"Spock was just telling me he's a geologist," McCoy said to Jim.

"Oh, yeah?" Jim stretched out again, his knees falling open obscenely. Spock looked away. "That's cool. I went spelunking once. Scared the shit out of me, actually, having a hundred and fifty feet of rock over my head and only one way out."

"Says the man who plans to spend the next several years in the vacuum of space," McCoy quipped.

"You're coming with me, you know," Jim said with a grin.

"Oh," McCoy replied. "Believe me, I remember."

"You are both assigned to the USS _Enterprise_?" Spock inquired.

"Yeah," Jim said and his grin was the brightest Spock had seen since they met. Humans were free with their emotions, and it made him uncomfortable, because Jim was clearly at ease with this. "Bones here is my chief medical officer."

"I'm Sulu's chief medical officer," McCoy corrected.

"And I'm Sulu's number one, so in a sense, you're mine."

"You are young to serve as an officer," Spock observed. Jim shrugged.

"I guess they felt I proved myself," he said. "My dad was an officer too, first officer, though he was a few years older than me when he got promoted. My mom's chief engineer on the USS _Tereshkova_. Guess you can say it runs in my blood. Anyway, pizza will be another twenty minutes or so. Since there's three of us, I guess chess is out...vid?"

"Jim has a fondness for old-fashioned Terran cinema," McCoy explained to Spock, who nodded though he was unfamiliar with this type of entertainment. He made a note of Jim's mention of chess but said nothing.

"I'm thinking something funny," Jim mused.

"Agreed," McCoy said. "I've seen enough action and adventure for a while. Do you have a preference?"

Spock realized McCoy was addressing him, and he shook his head. "We do not watch videos for entertainment," he said.

"You're in for a treat," McCoy drawled.

Spock did not consider watching a pre-recorded dramatization of human interactions to be, as McCoy had phrased it, a "treat." Rather, he found it tedious and trite, time that would have been better spent in meditation or intellectual pursuits. McCoy snored lightly. Spock stared greedily at the chess set on a shelf beside the vid screen. He did not voice his displeasure, sitting quietly and refusing the bowl of popped corn kernels when Jim extended it to him.

This was, he allowed, perhaps preferable to remaining at the embassy, in the communal grief of his people. It was not an experience he desired to repeat, but he wondered if his mother had ever watched a video in this manner, if she had requested Sarek sit beside her while she did so, if she had offered the same strange food choice, if Sarek had accepted her offering. The next time Jim held the bowl out to him, Spock took a single piece—the two humans need not know that Vulcans did not handle their food—and ate it while imagining his mother's laugh.

ooo ooo ooo

"You're serious?" Jim asked, shoving a t-shirt in his black duffel bag and shouldering his comm. "You really got assigned the _Enterprise_? You swear you aren't just fucking with me?"

"I swear to god," Gary said. "Navigator. They guy who had been assigned ended up with some parasite he picked up at a pretty unsavory establishment, and it can't be treated in time for the launch. I was on a waiting list. Are you happy?"

"Are you kidding? I'm freaking ecstatic," Jim said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. "The only problem now are the tiny Federation-issue mattresses."

"Well, you're the commanding officer. Maybe you can swing an upgrade."

Jim laughed. "Maybe," he said. "God, I can't believe you're really coming with us."

"I told you, I want to do this right. That doesn't mean twiddling my thumbs back here on Earth or getting assigned to another mission and wondering when the hell I'm going to see you next."

"So, I'll see you at Hangar One in the morning?"

"You bet," Gary said, "and then we can christen your new quarters."

"Sounds awesome," Jim said. "We just can't christen them too loudly. Sulu's just through the shared bath."

"I'll try to keep it in check," Gary said, dropping his voice into the low, seductive tone he knew drove Jim wild. "But that'll be hard after seeing your ass all day in those black pants."

"Don't make me regret this."

"I'll probably rip them off of you with my teeth."

"I don't think Starfleet would be thrilled with me if I destroy my uniform less than a full day out of space dock."

"Probably not. What's happening with that Vulcan?"

"The colony transports are leaving in a couple weeks. I guess he'll stay here until then."

"I'm surprised you managed to co-exist this long."

"I'm a pretty tolerant guy," Jim defended.

"You're also a pretty emotive guy," Gary said. "I'd think that's pretty hard for a Vulcan to be around."

"He seems to be doing okay."

"I don't need to be jealous?"

"Ha," Jim said. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Look," Gary said. "I've still got a lot of packing and laundry to do...see you in the morning?"

"Definitely," Jim said and the line went dead. He closed his comm, yawned and went into the living room.

Spock was seated in a chair beside the window with his eyes closed, but he opened them as Jim approached.

"Almost forgot to pack this," Jim said, taking the chess set from the shelf and holding it in front of him. "Don't know what I'd do in the evenings if I couldn't kick back with a good game. I'll have to comm you on the colony. Maybe we can play each other across the galaxy."

"That could prove an adequate diversion," Spock agreed. He held his comm out to Jim. "Enter your ID."

"Think you'll have service out there?" Jim said, taking the comm from Spock's hand. Spock's eyes lingered on Jim's hand momentarily, and then he glanced to his lap.

"If it has not already been established, surely doing so will be a priority to ensure optimal communication among those assisting in establishing the colony," Spock said. Jim slid the comm back to Spock across the table.

"What do you say to one last game before I pack this thing?" he asked, settling on the couch.

"I would appreciate another opportunity to beat you," Spock said.

Jim set the board down on the coffee table and began to arrange the pieces. "You take white," he told Spock, who rose from his place at the window and came to sit in the arm chair. "Maybe that'll give you a tactical advantage."

"Your method of play is illogical," Spock said as Jim set the last rook in place. "I am unused to such an undisciplined approach."

"Which makes it pretty damned effective," Jim laughed and folded his arms behind his head. "You'll be bored playing other Vulcans now. Hey, send a message to my comm before we get started, would you? I want to make sure I have your number, just in case you forget to let me know how you're doing."

"I will not," Spock insisted.

"Do it anyway," Jim said. Spock nodded and tapped the screen, scrolling down. He frowned when he reached the entry containing Jim's information.

"What is it?" Jim asked, leaning forward. "Don't you see it in there? I swear I saved it right."

"You are James Kirk," Spock said slowly.

"Um, yeah," Jim said. "Was there some question about that?"

"I was unaware of your surname."

"Oh," Jim said, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging. "Sorry. I didn't realize it was something you wanted to know. I mean, I don't know yours either."

Spock hesitated, fingering the edge of his robe and rolling it between his fingers. He opened his mouth as though he would speak, then closed it, pressing his lips together firmly. He clenched and unclenched his left hand, propped up on his thigh. Jim felt uneasy in his presence for the first time since Spock walked through the front door almost two weeks ago. Bones had made a point to emphasize Vulcan strength several times since Spock first came to stay with them. Jim had a vision, a flicker of Spock's hands locked around his neck, holding him down roughly on the table until Jim's vision blurred and faded to black.

Spock set his jaw and he frowned, casting the most severe facial expression Jim had seen him make. Spock looked down at his lap, and he was silent for almost a full minute. Jim listened to the clock ticking in the kitchen, _forty eight, forty nine_...

"It is late," Spock said, and he rose from the table in a fluid motion. He would not meet Jim's eyes. "I did not realize the hour. You require rest."

"I'm so excited, I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight," Jim admitted, surprised by Spock's sudden decision to end their game before it started. "I'd feel a lot better if you'd sit down so I can beat you properly." He stared at Spock. The uneasy feeling persisted.

Spock did not answer, staring at the chess board from where he stood beside the table. Jim studied his hands, Spock's long pale fingers, balled into fists.

"I must take a walk," Spock said finally.

"Okay," Jim said, blinking in surprise as the apartment door opened and closed.

Disappointed, he began to disassemble the chess board, tucking the pieces into a box he'd take with him to the ship. A part of Jim considered going after Spock, to ask what the hell just happened. Spock didn't know the neighborhood. He'd only left the apartment on foot when Jim did, and twice an aircar from the embassy had come to collect him on official business. He was the Vulcan ambassador's son, Jim had come to understand, and the embassy had seen fit to ask Spock to go through his father's office and claim his personal possessions. Jim noted the meager pile beside Spock's bed had grown by several items. He'd dug an extra tote bag out of his closet and was planning to offer it to Spock to make carrying everything easier.

As he'd told Spock, Jim wasn't able to sleep, too wired on adrenaline to settle down. He sat at the kitchen table drinking decaf coffee and re-reading ship assignments, scanning over a memo that Admiral Pike had composed for Sulu and him. _"This is not an easy job,"_ it read. _"Trust in and work with one another, and be careful with my ship. She's brand new."_

ooo ooo ooo

Spock could still trace the outline of where Jim's skin had come into contact with his own. The heel of his hand had pressed against the tip of Spock's fourth and fifth fingers and grazed the fingernail of his third. Jim's own third finger, which was longer than his second by six millimeters, connected for three tenths of a second with Spock's palm. He struggled against the unwelcome curiosity that touch had sparked in his human half. He buried it, smoothing his hand on his robe as he walked away from Jim's apartment building.

It had been accidental, momentary, but Spock felt a jolt of Jim's excitement over tomorrow's launch. He had pulled his hand back, but Jim's head was already bent, fingers tapping at the screen as he entered his information into Spock's comm. It had been residually warm when Jim slid it back to him. Spock's hands had not been touched by another being for one hundred and twelve days. Then, it had become necessary. He had sliced his hand on a broken glass vial and sought medical attention. The healer had worn gloves and touched him only as long as the procedure had required.

How curious to touch hands and think nothing of it. He supposed Jim was not even aware that it had happened, yet Spock had never been touched so intimately.

Earth, Spock found, was intolerable for one who had spent his life on a desert planet. He should have worn an extra layer beneath his robes, but he had not, so he accepted the shivering his body produced in response to the cold night air. Jim would have, undoubtedly, loaned him a jacket. To request one would have been logical, but the thought of his own body being wrapped in an article that recently covered Jim's person made Spock uneasy.

Why had he not trusted his instincts? Spock had not desired to leave the compound, and yet he had been certain—the young man's eyes had given him that certainty—that he was not in danger of repeating what he had seen in his elder self's mind. He knew without doubt, from image after image that had burned into his own memory, every aspect of Jim Kirk's face. He had relived every glance, received every touch, every slow burning kiss that another Jim Kirk had bestowed upon another Spock. This Jim was not, _could not_ be that man, with his eyes blue like Earth's atmosphere. It was not possible, and yet Spock's comm had revealed the identity clearly. Jim had confirmed it.

It did not matter. Jim would leave tomorrow on his starship, and Spock would go to the Vulcan colony. He need not repeat the mistakes of his elder self, to fall victim to the lechery of his human half.

He crossed the street, passing into a poorly lit park with metal structures he supposed were intended for children as playthings. He sat on a plastic seat suspended from two chains; it began to swing backward under his weight. He lifted his feet on instinct, and it swung forward gently, then back again. It was a curious sensation. He wrapped his right hand around the chain and felt the cold metal against his palm. He sat that way for nineteen minutes, until his hands were so cold they quaked, as Vulcan had shifted and quaked beneath him. He felt anger well up in him, an anger that could not be controlled, like the anger that had consumed him as a child but intensified. Nero had taken his mother, and Spock wished to avenge her. Nero's destruction would not return his mother to life; it would only satisfy Spock's desire for revenge. It was illogical, yet Spock desired it.

A full-blooded Vulcan would not act in this manner. He must focus. To think on this any longer would be unwise. He put it out of his mind and began the soothing ritual of reciting the chemical composition for the most common of Vulcan's minerals: iron ore, copper, silica...

A breeze had picked up, and it stirred the tree branches overhead. He returned to the apartment, hoping to find that Jim had gone to bed, but he was sitting at the kitchen table when Spock entered, spinning a coffee mug in his hands.

"So that was weird," Jim said, keeping his eyes focused on the table. He did not look up at Spock. "You know that, right?"

Spock stared at the back of his neck, at the fine hairs that grew there, shaved closed to his skin in the Terran military fashion.

"Or is it a Vulcan thing to end a chess game with a guy before it starts?"

"I did not realize—" Spock began.

"The time," Jim cut him off. "Yeah, you said that. Look, I won't pretend I didn't notice that you freaked out when you learned my last name. I'm guessing you've heard something about me."

There was no benefit in denying truth.

"On the _Enterprise_," Spock said, remaining in the entrance to the kitchen, "shortly after Vulcan was destroyed, I became acquainted with an elder version of myself who arrived through the black hole with Nero."

"Oh, that guy," Jim said. Spock's eyebrows lifted, though Jim could not see.

"You are aware of him?"

"He beamed aboard the ship while we were at warp," Jim said. "I had to interrogate him. For all I knew, Spock was a common name on your planet. I didn't realize...I mean, he's a lot older, and I didn't want to assume just because you sort of look like him..." He swallowed. "What did he say to you?"

"He showed me," Spock clarified, prepared for the questions that would likely arise from his statement. Jim surprised him by turning around in his chair and tapping his forehead.

"Same," Jim said, "though he wouldn't show me anything from my future, just how he got here. I only got a little bit out of him. What the heck did you find out about me that's got you so pissed off? Do I turn out to be an asshole or something?"

"No."

"Good," Jim said, and he appeared satisfied. "This had better be a damned good reason."

Jim stared up at him, and it was a minute before Spock could respond.

"Your eyes are blue," Spock said.

"Yeah," Jim said, pushing a hand through his hair and averting his gaze. "There's a funny story behind that, actually."

"Oh?"

"I look like my dad. I mean, I look _just like my dad_. People like to comment on it, you know?" He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back into the chair. "It gets old after a while. The older I got, the more I looked like him. I think that was hard on my mom." He frowned and smoothed the fabric over his right knee. "When I was fifteen, I swiped a friend's ID and had this cosmetic procedure just to fuck with everyone. It only took a few seconds, but my eyes were sore for a goddamned week."

Spock stared at him.

"Anyway, my mom never said anything about it, but she could look me in the eye after that. I'm guessing I didn't do that...in my other life."

"No."

"That's what's got you confused?"

"The revelation of your surname was unexpected, given that your physical characteristics did not match those I received from my elder self. Had I known your identity..." He was uncertain what he meant to say.

"I got the impression we were pretty good friends," Jim said, but Spock did not answer him. He did not desire to continue this conversation. He wished to leave the room and for Jim to cease asking questions. Spock was not tired, but it would not be a lie to say that he required sleep. As a living thing, he did, in fact, require it. It was a matter of semantics. It did not matter that sleep was not required in this moment, only that it was necessary for his cognitive processes and physical well being.

He said as much, and Jim looked at him with a blank expression.

"Okay," he said. "I guess I'll see you in the morning before I take off."

Spock retreated to the dark heat of the bedroom and meditated for two point two eight three hours. If he lay unable to sleep the entire night, listening to Jim's breathing instead, to the rustle of sheets, to footsteps in the hallway when McCoy returned home, no one need be the wiser.

ooo ooo ooo

The alarm blared long before the sun came up, but Jim threw an arm across his eyes out of habit. It was 0500 hours, and he was due at Hangar One in an hour. Why did ship launches have to be so early in the morning? He understood it had to do with the amount of time it took to transport the crew into space, and the rest of the supplies, and then get everyone on board and settled. Hell, half of the crew was on board already, having been transported with their belongings yesterday. Mr. Scott, Jim learned, had been on board with Olson for the last week overseeing the last of the repairs and upgrades. There had been disagreements about the housing for the dilithium reactor but no fistfighting yet.

Jim sent a message to Gary to make sure he was awake, then rolled out of bed. Spock was still asleep when Jim got out of the shower, but he appeared in the kitchen when Jim was nose-deep in a mug of coffee and yawning himself awake. He could hear Bones's shower running.

"I wish you a successful mission," Spock said.

"Thanks."

"I will return to the embassy this morning," he continued. "I have already gathered my belongings."

"You don't have to do that," Jim said. "You're welcome to stay here until you leave for the colony. It'll just be you. You'll probably like that better, right?"

"That would be inappropriate."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Bones doesn't believe in subletting, and I'm pretty sure you're not gonna steal my shit," he said. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want."

"I understand."

Bones's shower shut off, and in a few minutes he joined them in the kitchen in full uniform, taking the mug Jim held out to him.

"No pancakes this morning?" Jim asked.

"No pancakes for a few years," Bones said. "I'm not waking up at the crack of dawn to cook for you when there's a fleet of replicators on the ship."

"But I like your cooking," Jim pointed out.

"Someone ought to benefit from it," Bones said wryly. "Are you packed?"

"Packed and ready."

"You should put on pants," Bones pointed out. Jim looked down at his bare chest and legs.

"These are regulation briefs," he said in mock sincerity.

"Surely Starfleet does not permit a commanding officer to go about unclothed," Spock said, raising his eyebrows. "In addition to possible sexual stimulation, which would undoubtedly decrease productivity, it would also be impractical, as doing so would require the ship's ambient temperature to be raised significantly in order to maintain ideal human body temperature, thus requiring a greater strain on the ship's environmental controls."

Jim and Bones stared at him for a few seconds, then Jim burst out laughing and bent at the waist, setting down his mug and putting both hands on his hips. "Oh," he said when his voice returned to him. "I think I'm gonna miss you."

Spock gave him a bewildered expression. Jim went to pat Spock on his shoulder, but at the last minute he just pointed at him and shook his finger.

"I go in search of pants," he called, and he could feel Bones's eye roll on the back of his neck as he walked to the bedroom.

ooo ooo ooo

The old Vulcan was waiting for him outside the hangar, standing with his arms behind his back beneath a spotlight. The sky was still dark. He gave Jim a light smile and raised a hand in greeting. Jim patted Bones on the back.

"I'll catch up to you," he said, and Bones ducked inside the hangar doors. Jim shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder and approached Spock, who looked well rested and, in Jim's opinion, happy to see him.

"It's you," Jim said. "You know, you've been rooming with me for the last couple weeks."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well, I didn't realize it was you until last night."

"I knew my younger counterpart had been placed in a local residence," Spock said, "but I did not inquire as to whose it was."

"Starfleet was hoping I'd recruit you," Jim said. "Is that what happened where you're from? I convinced you to enlist?"

"No, Jim," Spock said in a too-familiar way that made Jim shift on his feet. "I joined Starfleet of my own accord."

"Man, you really screwed up our lives when you came through that black hole," Jim laughed, though he was only half joking.

"I fail to see how my presence in this universe led to my younger counterpart's decision to attend the Vulcan Science Academy," Spock admitted. "I see no connection between the events."

"Maybe it's the butterfly effect."

"I am unfamiliar with that term."

"Chaos theory, you know?" Jim said. "A butterfly flaps its wings on the _Kelvin_, and the _Kelvin_ blows up, and somehow across the universe a Vulcan changes his mind. Something like that."

"You are speaking figuratively," Spock said after a moment, "but I suppose that is possible. Will he enlist?"

"I didn't ask him, but I'm pretty sure he's going with you to the colony."

"I see."

"Kind of a shame," Jim said. "I like you guys."

Spock gave him a sad look, almost haunted. Jim glanced to the hanger and bit the inside of his lip.

"I should get going," he said, looking back at Spock. "Wouldn't look great if the first officer is the last one there."

"It would not," Spock agreed.

"Take care of yourself," Jim said. "And...call me sometime. If you want. Let me know how you guys are doing."

"I shall."

"Cool," Jim said. "I know you don't shake hands, but I can't do that salute of yours justice."

"I am not opposed to shaking your hand, Jim."

"Oh," Jim said and thrust his out. Spock's palms were smooth as he took Jim's hand within his own and held it.

"Goodbye, my old friend," Spock said warmly.

"I'll see you," Jim said, smiling, and then he pulled his hand back. Spock drew his arms together behind his back, and he remained motionless as Jim nodded at him and turned to walk away.

ooo ooo ooo

It was well that Jim was gone. The _Enterprise_ departed space dock three point four hours ago. Spock had turned on Jim's vid screen and watched the news coverage. The broadcast had emphasized Jim's role in both the Vulcan evacuation and in saving Earth. It was fraught with opinion which was far from objective, but Spock found himself fascinated by the information provided about Jim's life. He was a Tarsus IV survivor, son of the late George Samuel Kirk, and earned one of the highest aptitude scores Starfleet Academy had seen in recent years. In addition, he had recently been awarded a commendation for original thinking, for the implementation of a subroutine which allowed him to beat a battle simulation necessary for one who desired a captaincy.

To do such a thing was the equivalent of cheating, Spock decided, and yet he found himself impressed by Jim's tactics. Original thinking, indeed. He watched the broadcast until Jim and his captain boarded the shuttle which would take them to the space dock. He left it on in the background as he read a report about volcanic activity on Rigel VII. He looked once more when the broadcaster announced the _Enterprise_ had retracted her moorings and had separated from space dock. There was a strange feeling in his stomach, something he might label envy, if he were capable of such an emotion. When she achieved warp and was no longer in visual range of the reporters, he powered off the vid screen.

The apartment had a different quality to it with its two human residents absent. Spock stood in the living room and looked at the square break in the dust on the shelf which the chess set had occupied.

This atmosphere would certainly be conducive to meditation, and Spock found he needed to meditate.

A message came through to his comm from Solen asking if he required an aircar. _Negative_, he wrote back and settled onto the floor with his legs crossed, closing his eyes.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim came with his legs around Gary's waist, biting his lower lip and laughing through the moan that escaped him.

"I told you it'd be hotter with the uniforms on, Commander," Gary whispered in his ear and licked the shell as he pulled out and tied off the condom.

"Fuck," Jim said, lying back and pulling a sheet over his legs. "Why'd we ever stop doing this?"

"Cause I was an idiot," Gary said, stretching out beside Jim and kissing him. "You're amazing."

"You're not so bad yourself," Jim said, his chest still heaving. "Too bad we couldn't get adjoining quarters."

"Maybe on the next assignment," Gary said. "At least you get to arrange our schedules. Shower?"

"In a minute," Jim said. "I can't feel my legs."

"Then I'm doing it right," Gary said and rose with a kiss to Jim's shoulder.

A chirp indicated Jim had a new message, which he assumed was from Olson telling him to come to engineering and try out the new batch he and Scotty brewed in celebration of the ship's launch. He was, he had to admit, completely surprised that it was Spock's name on his message screen.

**oo** Pawn D2 to D4

"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath and glanced to the bathroom. Gary was mid-sonic, humming something off tune. Jim pulled the box containing his chess board from his duffel bag and set it up on the small round table against the wall. He made Spock's opening move, and then he sent back one of his own.

**oo** pawn b7 to b5

He laughed, smugly satisfied, and went to join Gary in the shower.

ooo ooo ooo

Spock traveled to the Vulcan Embassy the morning the transports were scheduled to depart for the new colony. He should have arrived sooner, to assist with cataloging and loading the transports with supplies, but he found himself unwilling to leave the apartment. His shields were firmly back in place, his meditation routine rigorous, and he engaged in calisthenics twice each day. His control had returned. He found himself able to think of his planet and his parents with a rational mind.

Vulcan might be destroyed, but the essence of his people thrived within him. Spock was, and he believed it his duty to be, Vulcan.

The grief which clung to the remaining Vulcans was still present. It was apparent in the heaviness of each consciousness which brushed against his in passing—too many remained poorly shielded—but it was greatly diminished compared to the last time he visited the embassy, when they had asked that he oversee the clearing of his father's office. As Sarek's son, he had been honored to do so. He felt pride that he, a half-Vulcan, could exhibit more control than those who were full blooded. Indeed, one who had tormented him as a child had been rescued among with Spock, a fellow scientist. Spock felt fear roll off of him and experienced satisfaction.

Most of his people were out of doors, gathered near the transports on the launch area or huddled within the open hangar. The transports would make several trips. The Federation ship that would deliver them to the colony had returned from a scientific exploration. The craft was Vulcan in origin, with a largely Vulcan crew. Spock was gratified to learn he would not be further exposed to human emotions.

He expected to see his elder self. He had steeled himself for the possibility, adding an extra hour to his morning's meditation. He supposed they would acknowledge each other, exchange a few words out of obligation. He had not expected his elder self to approach him, to offer him the Vulcan greeting, and speak.

"There are so few Vulcans left, we cannot afford to ignore each other."

To do so would be illogical, Spock reasoned. "No," he agreed. "We cannot."

"You will travel with us to the new colony?"

"Yes. It is logical I go to the colony with the others and help rebuild our race."

"And yet you can be in two places at once," the elder spoke. "It was my hope that you would remain on Earth."

"To what end?" Spock inquired.

"A career in Starfleet is an honorable path."

"It is not the path I have chosen," Spock answered.

"You have chosen the path of logic," his elder self continued. "It too is an honorable path. It is one I also followed, but I urge you to consider this, to consider choosing not only what is logical but what feels right."

_Feeling_.

Spock stared at his older counterpart but had nothing to say in reply. His comm sounded, and he took it from his pocket, turning it over in his hand. He read Jim's name, and in his mind conjured their chess game, the imaginary board on which he plotted every move he constructed, every move Jim sent. If it were Spock's decision, he would order Jim's king to another space. Jim's moves were without a discernable pattern, which Spock found equally frustrating and intriguing. However, the message was not a chess move.

_Heard the transports are leaving today. Safe travels_, it read. Spock stared at it dumbly.

"My transport is leaving," his elder self spoke. "Since my customary farewell would be oddly self serving, I shall simply say good luck."

Spock raised a hand in farewell, but his eyes again dropped to the screen as his counterpart walked away. He cared not for the opinion of his elder self. He felt no compulsion to follow it, and yet, staring at the words Jim had sent him, Spock detected a sense of unease growing within him. If he went with the others to the colony, would he see Jim Kirk again? Why would he wish to see Jim Kirk again? Was he choosing the colony because he was so staunchly set against following the elder Spock's path? Clearly his judgment was compromised because of what he had seen during the mind meld, yet he could not escape the thought _what if_ which circled his brain like a lanka-gar in flight.

It would not do to make a decision while emotionally compromised. Spock required meditation. He would return for the evening transport to the ship. Undoubtedly, regular ships would be available for those Vulcans who lived elsewhere in the galaxy or on Earth, and desired to join the others at a later date. Another was already scheduled to depart the following week. Families who had been living at the compound surely deserved preference.

It was necessary to think on the matter, Spock told himself as the aircar took him back into San Francisco, over the sloping streets and past Starfleet headquarters to the neighborhood where Jim's apartment building stood. Spock's mother had always advised considering one's options before making a decision, even if one choice seemed at first infinitely preferable compared to the other.

Jim had told Spock that he was welcome to stay in the apartment as long as necessary. He had not specified an expiration to this offer, thus Spock reasoned he was permitted to reside there as long as he desired. He would remain a few hours longer, perhaps a day or two, until he was certain the choice he made was his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**2259**

It was twenty-nine minutes into his engineering lecture when Spock received a message. The screen illuminated for three point five seconds, then faded to fifty percent brightness. He glanced at his comm unit and raised an eyebrow at Jim's name.

**oo** i'm bored. talk to me

He stared at the message and re-read it twice. Jim did not often write to him outside of their chess games. Occasionally he included a greeting or his opinion on Spock's move. He was intrigued by the familiarity Jim's words implied. Spock cast his eyes forward to the professor, who had turned to face the board. The professor scribbled equations, then swiped his finger across the board to open a new screen. Spock confirmed that the equations had synced to his PADD before replying.

**oo** Hello.

**oo** hey

**oo** It is early for you to message me.

**oo** off duty

**oo** You are not on the bridge?

**oo** sickbay. allergic reaction. my hands swelled up like sausages. it was a real sight

**oo** No doubt it has been successfully treated, as you are able to operate your communicator.

**oo** bones gave me a hypo of something but it's got me wired. i can't sleep. what's it like where you are?

With his peripheral vision, Spock looked to his left and right.

**oo** Crowded yet quiet.

**oo** it's quiet here too

Spock was uncertain how or if he should reply, so he laid down his comm and refocused his attention on the lecture. Within three minutes, he found his eyes wandering back to the screen, to the indicator light on the top left corner of the device. It did not blink. Perhaps Jim had fallen asleep. Another eight and a half minutes passed. When the screen lit up again, Spock experienced a jolt through his midsection.

**oo** what are you doing?

**oo** I am attending a lecture on transporter technology.

**oo** oh cool. i studied that at academy. interesting stuff. message me later for chess?

**oo** I will.

Although there was no reason to retain it, Spock did not delete the message thread.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim slammed back the vodka. He didn't even like the taste, but that's what Chekov poured him. Where an eighteen-year old got a bottle of it, he had no idea. Probably at that last space station. That place was shady. Sulu sat across from him in the mess, slumped in his chair. Chekov poured them both another round. For the senior officers to be drinking in the mess was against regulations, but it had been one hell of a day.

"Drink," Chekov ordered. "You will both feel better."

"I can't believe the volcano just went off like that," Jim said, rubbing his forehead.

"Sir," Chekov said. "Our sensors indicated that the volcano would erupt within a standard day."

"I know," Jim said, patting him on the shoulder. "I just mean it's hard to believe. A whole civilization, gone just like that..."

"There wasn't anything we could have done," Sulu said. He sniffed and drank the next shot. "Any interference would've violated—"

"Yeah," Jim said, bringing his hand up to cover his eyes. "I know. We've seen some shit during the last year, but this still sucks."

They were four shots in when Gary found them laughing with the bottle between them.

"I've been looking for you," Gary said, sliding into the chair beside Jim. Jim's body and tongue were looser from the alcohol. He had the urge to lean over for a kiss, but he forced himself to sit up a little straighter, fidgeting with his uniform. He might be on his way to getting shitfaced with the captain, but anyone on the crew would understand that after the day's events.

Personal relationships between senior crew members, especially ones who regularly worked the same bridge shift, were another matter. He'd read up on the topic thoroughly. What he and Gary were doing wasn't against regulations, per se, but it was unsanctioned. Starfleet's official policy was that such relationships were discouraged, for the good of the ship. Only a few crewmembers knew about him and Gary: Bones and Uhura, of course, and Sulu. He was Jim's captain, but also a friend. You organize a rescue and recon mission with a guy, and it sort of bonds you for life.

"And man, I'll never forget that ensign's face when you booted him out of the helmsman's chair," Jim was laughing.

"We were about to get pulled into a black hole," Sulu reminded him.

"That's why it was so badass," Jim said. "The way you punched her into warp on a turn? Epic."

"I'm a good pilot," Sulu grinned.

"Then how about you turn her over to me, and I'll let you drive her for a while?"

"How about you pour me another, Commander," Sulu quipped. He motioned to the table. "Your comm's blinking."

"I bet it's Spock," Jim said. He bit his lip as he flipped the comm open and read the latest message.

**oo** The planet's loss is unfortunate, but your guilt is unnecessary.

"He's the master of understatement," Jim said as he typed his response.

**oo** i still feel like shit about it though

"You talk about this guy a lot," Sulu said.

"He's cool," Jim said. Gary sighed and put his arm across the back of Jim's chair, but didn't touch him.

"He's a _Vulcan_," Bones said, dropping next to Sulu. "That's the opposite of 'cool.' Jim's just smitten."

"I am not!" Jim rolled his eyes. "Jeez, you room with a guy for a couple of weeks and everyone thinks you're screwing."

"That's been my experience," Gary muttered. Jim elbowed him and the room spun.

"Whatever," Jim said, steadying himself by gripping the table. "We play chess via comm. It's not a big thing."

"Let me see your comm history." Gary held out his hand.

"No," Jim said. His comm buzzed, and this time he noticed.

**oo** Your reaction is likely normal. However, if your melancholy persists, I recommend you consult McCoy.

Jim snickered into his glass.

"Care to share with the rest of us, Commander?" Gary asked.

"It's just the way he talks," Jim said, taking another shot. "_Lieutenant_."

"Well," Gary said, slapping his thighs and standing. "As fun as it would be watching my command team see who can pass out first, I'm hitting the gym. Captain, Commander."

His eyes were hard and lingered on Jim's a second longer than was comfortable. Jim forced himself to look away.

"Well, that wasn't awkward," Bones remarked after Gary was gone.

"You two better not fight on my bridge tomorrow," Sulu added.

Jim groaned and pillowed his head on his arms. "I think I'm going to have a hangover tomorrow."

"No, you won't," Bones said, poking him in the neck. "Remind me to dose you at breakfast."

"That's almost enough to make me give up drinking," Jim muttered into his sleeve.

The evening turned into an Engineering versus Bridge poker tournament, with Uhura and Keenser the last two in. Jim sat at her elbow and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Keenser's got a wicked poker face," he whispered loudly. He could hear her eyeroll in the way she exhaled. Despite her equally impressive stare, Keenser remained undefeated. Scotty raised his arm in victory and collected the winnings.

Jim was plenty drunk when Uhura and Scotty left him in his quarters. He hoped he might find Gary waiting for him, but the room was dark, the bed still made. In their shared bath, he could hear Sulu showering, so he stripped off his shirt and fell onto his bed. His comm was an uncomfortable pressure against his hip. He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled it out. Spock's last message was still on the screen.

**oo** the crew thinks we're sleeping together

**oo** We have occupied the same bedroom.

**oo** you're hilarious

**oo** You are the only person to have made that observation.

ooo ooo ooo

For the ninth afternoon in a row, Spock ate a bowl of replicated stew for dinner, meditated for one hour, and sat on the couch to go over his notes and class materials. His comm sat in plain view on the coffee table, so he would know the moment Jim messaged him. For the past two weeks, Jim had continued to write with information not pertaining to chess, and Spock was surprised to find he looked forward to Jim's communications. The _Enterprise_ had been on her return trip to Earth, but Starfleet had ordered her back out. Jim did not specify why. Spock supposed the information was classified and did not inquire further. He found himself uneasy, however, because the _Enterprise_'s schedule change coincided with an attack on the Kelvin Memorial Archive.

It was ridiculous to make such a connection, he chastised himself. The _Enterprise_ was needed elsewhere, and Jim was simply busy.

When the screen lit up, he leaned forward and retrieved the comm immediately, tamping down the odd flutter in his side. He frowned when the message was not from Jim. It was a dinner invitation from Admiral Pike for this evening. Spock considered declining, since he had already eaten, but he did not wish to offend the admiral or his wife. He set his PADD aside and replied with his acceptance, then went to shower and change.

ooo ooo ooo

"Stay with me."

This wasn't how Jim imagined his death would be. He always knew he'd die alone, for one, and he figured he had a few years before he had to think about it. But the warp core was misaligned, and if he hadn't entered the chamber, hadn't kicked it back into position, the entire ship and its crew would have been lost. In the scheme of things, one human life isn't worth much if it can save a few hundred.

He understood, for the first time, the decision his father made twenty-six years earlier.

Uhura was standing outside the chamber, having rushed down when Scotty called up to the bridge. Jim had heard him on his comm, heard her voice respond, and he waited.

Everything hurt, even opening his eyes, looking up at her. His eyes watered, and his vision blurred as he tried to focus on her face.

"Okay," she said, kneeling on the other side of the glass. Jim shifted his weight, sliding as close to her as he could manage, but he felt his legs wouldn't move. His arms hung from his sides as dead weights.

"If I make it through this," he croaked, and he tried to smile at her, "I'm calling you Nyota."

"When you make it through this," she said, wiping her eyes, "I'm going to _insist_ you call me Nyota."

"How's the ship?"

"You saved it," she said, and from within he felt a sense of relief. "You're a big hero."

"Where's Gary?" he managed.

"He's on the bridge, sweetie."

"Tell him—"

"You can tell him yourself," she interrupted. "I'm going to get you out of here."

"The decontamination process...hasn't finished..." he said, calling her bluff. "My whole body's irradiated."

"Len will take care of you," she insisted. "Don't worry."

"I'm scared," he said, raising his hand to the glass. She pressed both palms against it, as though she could hug him through the barrier.

"I'm so proud of you," she said, and he began to choke, his throat closing. "Jim? Hold on, okay?"

Her smile was bright through her tears, and his eyes fell closed. His thoughts drifted to Gary, whose face he would never see again, and Bones, who would never know how much Jim valued his friendship. And then there was Spock, who had somehow become an integral part of Jim's everyday routine. He had never replied to Spock's earlier chess move—the sneaky Vulcan was trying to abduct his queen—but fate had made its own now.

"Jim, keep talking to me. Jim? Scotty, get Len down here now!"

He heard Uhura cry, heard the shuffle of feet as Scotty dropped beside her at the hatch. He wondered, dimly, what New Vulcan looked like, if it was hot there like the heat beneath his skin, boiling him from the inside out. He pictured Gary and embraced the image of the two of them entwined as he fell deeper and deeper into darkness.

_Checkmate_.

ooo ooo ooo

Number One did not look like Spock's mother. She did not speak like Spock's mother, who had never cursed, while Number One was familiar with a number of colorful metaphors she used liberally when talking to herself. She could, however, cook like Spock's mother, and he found he craved her occasional dinner invitations as much as her lectures on interspecies protocol. She stood over a large pot of soup that boiled on her stove. Admiral Pike leaned a hip against the counter and drank a beer. Spock was seated on a stool at their large kitchen island and quietly sipped a cup of tea.

"You know, I never would have believed someone could take as many credits as you and still maintain the scores you have in all your classes," Pike said. "You might be setting a record."

"I appreciate you mentoring me through the accelerated program," Spock said. "It will please you to know I am on schedule to complete all of my required coursework within the next Terran calendar year."

"You'll make a fine officer," Pike said. "Starfleet's lucky to have you. If I go back out there someday, I'd like to have you on my ship."

Spock frowned and cocked his head. Admirals were not given command of starships. Pike knew this, so Spock reasoned he was speaking hypothetically. The last year had given Spock a greater insight into human behavior and expectations. Pike had intended this as a compliment. Spock tightened his grip on the cup between his hands, and he offered what he knew humans wished to hear.

"Thank you."

"I'll talk you into a starship eventually," Pike chuckled.

They ate at the counter. Number One took the stool beside Spock, while Pike remained standing. Pike had made a comment a few weeks earlier that he sat in a wheelchair for so long, he was making up for lost time. Spock had thought he was, perhaps, joking as humans were wont to do but wondered if there was truth behind it. Spock knew it was rude to keep his comm in view while they dined, but he had been awaiting Jim's response for seven point seven six hours. He knew Jim to be off shift. It had never taken him this long to decide on his next move.

"How come you keep looking at your comm?" Pike asked.

"I await a reply," Spock said.

"Must be pretty important," Pike said. "You glance at that thing like it's going to bite you if you don't keep it in your sights."

"I am expecting a message from Jim," Spock clarified.

"Jim? Jim Kirk?"

"Yes."

"I didn't realize you two talked all that often."

"We play chess," Spock explained. "I await his next move."

"What did he think about you enlisting?"

"He is unaware," Spock said.

"You haven't told him?" Pike asked, his face opening in surprise.

"I have not."

"But aren't you subletting his apartment?"

"I reside there," Spock clarified.

"You're squatting?" Number One said, raising an eyebrow.

"Jim stated that I was welcome to stay as long as necessary," Spock said, holding her gaze.

"So he thinks you're on New Vulcan," Number One deduced, "and you haven't bothered to tell him otherwise."

"Based on my intentions before he left Earth," Spock said, "it is logical to assume he has drawn that conclusion."

"When did you plan on telling him, exactly?" Pike asked.

"When it became relevant," Spock said and set down his spoon. He did not look at Pike, whom he could see was staring at him openly.

"Another bowl?" Number One offered. Spock shook his head and rose to take his bowl to the sink.

"I am satisfied," he said, "but the flavor was pleasing. I appreciate the invitation to share a meal."

"Food is the way to a man's heart, no matter what planet he's from," she said, laughing and dipping a wedge of bread into her soup. "You don't need to wash that. I didn't invite you over to do chores."

"I am aware," Spock said and washed the plate anyway.

Pike yawned while Number One brewed a pot of coffee. Spock liked the smell but not the flavor, so Number One prepared him more tea. They retired to the living room, Pike and Number One on the long sofa with his arm behind her back. Spock opted to sit on the floor beside the fireplace. The white wool rug possessed thick tufts, into which he curled his fingers. It reminded him of I-Chaya's fur. For a moment, he could feel the heat of his sehlat again, the comforting purr that would vibrate low in I-Chaya's chest when Spock curled against his side.

There were no more sehlats alive, he supposed, unless specimens had been taken off planet long ago and exhibited in zoological preserves. Perhaps a sample of hair survived, and the sehlat could be cloned. The sehlat had not gone extinct because of natural selection; its time had not yet passed. Therefore, it would not be impractical or without logic to attempt repopulation. By that reasoning, however, the Le-Matya must also be preserved.

Pike's comm sounded, and it reminded Spock that he had still not heard from Jim. Perhaps Jim's comm was not in service. There had been an interruption due to volcanic activity when the _Enterprise_ observed a primitive people. They had been lost in the volcano's eruption. Jim had mentioned his role only briefly; Spock heard details from Admiral Pike.

"Shit," Pike swore, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Shit."

"Chris?" Number One said. She looked over his shoulder at his comm screen and covered her mouth. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry."

"Give us a minute, would you?" he said quietly, and she nodded, rising and returning to the kitchen. Pike caught his head in his left hand, raked it through his hair.

"Spock, I shouldn't tell you this," Pike said slowly, looking from the comm in his hand to Spock. "It's classified, but I think you ought to hear it from me. Jim Kirk just gave his life to save the _Enterprise_ and her crew."

Spock did not understand his own reaction. He shook his head minutely. No, Jim Kirk was not dead. They were thirty-eight moves into a chess game, and it was Jim's turn. Their game was not over. It was not logical that Jim was dead. His hands shook, so he clasped them together on his lap. Pike was watching him.

"That is regrettable," Spock spoke finally. "How did he die?"

"I'm not sure." Pike's voice was unsteady. "This says the warp core was out of alignment. He must have gone into the chamber to try and fix it. The radiation..."

Spock nodded slowly, rising to his feet—he swayed on them and reached out, placing his hand on the window. It was cool against his skin, and he steadied himself, feeling the glass pressed against his palm. He imagined a death by radiation poisoning, the pain that Jim inevitably experienced. Had there truly been no other way to save the ship? Surely Jim would not have given his life if there were. It was honorable to give one's life to save another. It was what Spock would have done in Jim's place.

"Are you going to be all right, son?"

"I am fine," Spock said. It was not a lie. _Fine_ had variable definitions.

Pike sighed and leaned back into the couch. "I dared him to do better," he murmured. "Kid never did back down from a challenge. I'm sorry you didn't get to know him better."

Spock swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat.

"I have to ask you to forgive me," Pike continued. "I don't usually drink in front of students, but I need something for my nerves before I call in."

"Of course," Spock said as Pike went over to a small cabinet and took out a dark brown bottle.

"It's scotch," he said, holding the bottle aloft, which Spock understood to be an offering.

"Will it help?" he asked, though he was uncertain what he meant.

"It won't hurt," Pike said and poured two glasses.

ooo ooo ooo

Spock insisted that he was capable of getting back to the apartment on foot, even though Number One offered to drive him home. The liquor did not affect him. Even being half-human, he metabolized alcohol quickly enough that one glass did not render him incapable of walking. It had not lessened the intensity with which his brain focused on Jim Kirk, nor did it make recollections of him pleasant. Spock perceived Jim's loss as a gaping hole, as his mother and father were gaping holes in his mind kept carefully shielded. He had, unknowingly, allocated a portion of his mind to Jim. They lacked the familial bond of brothers, but Spock sensed his absence all the same.

"I know you're okay," she said, and he wondered if she placated him, "but it's best not to be alone after something like this. If you want to stay, or if you need to miss class tomorrow..."

"Why would I fail to attend your lecture?" he asked, and she looked at him the way his mother had when she kissed his cheek as a child and he raised a hand to it in disbelief. He made his appreciation for dinner known again, and then he took his leave of them. Number One respected his wishes. Spock walked with his gaze focused on the sidewalk.

The walk took approximately twenty-one minutes—it was approximate due to traffic signals and congestion on the sidewalks—from Admiral Pike and Number One's residence to Jim's apartment. Spock had yet to sign a lease of his own. He spent four months searching for an apartment within his budget, within walking distance to the academy campus, all the while comparing available apartments with the qualities of Jim's own. They fell short. All had an obligatory 30-day waiting period before he would be permitted to move in. All required that he furnish the space, and what need would he have for furniture in another year when he was assigned to a ship? He would not be able to take it with him, so to purchase such items would be impractical.

In the end, it had been easier to remain in Jim's apartment. Jim had said he might stay, after all. Spock had not given up searching for a suitable living quarters. He kept a list of available apartments on his PADD at all times. He reviewed it regularly. None of the offers were satisfactory.

He opened the door. He supposed it was not Jim's apartment any longer.

Jim was—

Spock would not think about that. He did not have Dr. McCoy's contact information.

He required meditation. There would be no sleep for him tonight. He would meditate and then study for his lectures tomorrow. He had reading assignments to complete for stellar cartography and plasma physics. They should only take an hour, perhaps two. He did not understand why Number One had told him that he might stay behind from class in the morning. Spock was not ill, and his response to Jim's death did not impede his ability to concentrate.

He lit a stick of incense and folded his legs, sitting beside the air mattress, and counted backwards in Vulcan: _reh, dah, wuh_...

ooo ooo ooo

Iowa is beautiful in summer. Jim trails his hand along a row of corn, allowing his fingers to catch on individual stalks, brush the blackened silk peeking from the ripening ears of corn. He feels the sun on his face, the intense heat baking the land, the plants, the people.

The heat intensifies, and he searches for cover, but there is none. Frantic, he ducks between two rows, hoping the head-high stalks will block the majority of the sun, allow him solace in the shade. The sun follows him, bearing down upon his body, penetrating the skin of his face, his eyes, his hair, his throat. It is dry. He needs water, but all around him is desert. The corn has vanished. There is only sand, dusty orange and blowing at his feet. He's going to die.

_He's going to die_. Has he not died before?

Jim recalls Nyota's hands—he can call her Nyota now—and the way she reached toward him though she knew she could not reach him. The skin on her palms is paler than her face but that same rich warmth he wishes he could wrap around himself as protection. She will stay with him.

The desert fades, and he stands amid the black of space.

ooo ooo ooo

A chirp caused Spock to emerge from his meditative state, centered and breathing evenly. Beside him on the floor, he noted his comm blinked with an unread message. It was from Admiral Pike.

**oo** Kirk is alive. I'll pick you up in ten minutes.

Spock stared at his comm. His mouth felt strangely dry. He read the words again, distrustful that he had interpreted the message correctly. Moisture escaped his left eye, rolled down his cheek, and for a moment he panicked, rushing to the bathroom mirror.

Was he bleeding? Had he experienced some sort of stroke? The moisture was clear, a wet streak along his face. He brushed his fingers through it, brought it to his lips. The liquid was body temperature and tasted faintly of salt. These were tears. He had seen his mother cry when he was young, when he came home with his lip split and bleeding. She would clean the blood away, the cloth coming away from his face green, and stroke the side of his face.

"Do not cry, mother," he always told her. She would smile and press her palm against his face more firmly.

Spock had not cried at the death of his planet. He had not cried when his mother's bond severed, nor his father's. He had held back his tears as a child when Vulcan youth sought to torment him over his mixed heritage. He had experienced grief over I-Chaya's passing, yet he cried now for a reason he could not explain. With a hand towel, he wiped away the evidence.

Pike said he would arrive in ten minutes; only seven had passed when he pulled up in front of the building. Spock had been waiting outside for three.

"How?" was all he was able to say when he sat in the front seat and closed the door. With both hands on the steering wheel, Pike shook his head and laughed.

"Because he's Jim Kirk," he said, and the car moved at a speed Spock knew exceeded the legal limit.

Jim's room was located on the building's sixth floor, in an unmarked room that was, Spock noted, guarded by a Starfleet security team. Pike presented his ID, and the guard stepped aside. He made a slight motion toward Spock. Spock could see from his peripheral vision.

"He's not to be bothered," Pike said, and the guard nodded and colored slightly.

Spock's breath caught when they entered the room. It smelled of humans, of hair, of an unwashed body. In the bed, covered in a white sheet to his chest, in a thin hospital gown loosely tied at the neck, lay Jim. He did not appear to be alive, his skin gray tinged, face sunken along his cheekbones. The skin covering his lips was cracked. There was a white deposit at each corner of his mouth. His eyes were closed.

Beside the bed, Dr. McCoy stood scowling. He did not look at Spock, eyes moving immediately to Admiral Pike. His expression softened.

"He'll live," he said. "Just don't expect him to wake up for a while."

"How long?" Pike asked.

"Could be tomorrow, could be weeks from now. That's up to Jim, and he always likes to do things his own way." McCoy's gaze fell upon him, and Spock lifted his chin. "I'll be damned. Aren't you supposed to be on New Vulcan?"

"I remained on Earth," Spock said. McCoy scanned his Starfleet cadet uniform.

"I can see that..." he said, and his expression was again tense. "Jim has the impression you're married with kids."

"I have never stated that I am bonded or have procreated," Spock said.

"Well, he'll be pleased as hell to see you when he wakes up," McCoy said. "It felt like you were up there with us sometimes, the way he'd go on about you and your chess games. I think his boyfriend was even a little jealous."

Spock noticed Pike give McCoy a questioning look. McCoy sighed.

"He's back with Gary. You didn't know that?"

Pike shook his head.

"I guess he didn't want a lot of people to know. They managed to keep it pretty under wraps on board. Gary wasn't even there with him when he—" McCoy trailed off. "Lieutenant Uhura stayed with him until the decontamination process had completed, but by then it was too late. She just left about ten minutes ago, but she'll be back in the morning."

"Well," Pike said, clearing his throat. "I'm glad he wasn't alone."

Pike approached the bed and stood beside it, reaching out a hand toward Jim's face but never touching him. Spock clasped his arms behind his back. McCoy came to stand next to Spock and spoke to him quietly.

"So after all that talk about going to the new colony," he said, "you enlisted?"

"I did," Spock confirmed.

"Where are you living now?" McCoy asked. Spock's hesitation must have revealed all he needed to know, because he regarded Spock with a slightly opened mouth and then nodded knowingly.

"Well, at least I can rest easy knowing no one's broken into the place," he said after a long pause.

"Indeed," Spock said, and he lowered his eyes, experiencing a sense of foolishness. He put it in check and straightened his back.

"So you're probably wondering what happened up there," McCoy continued.

"I presume any information pertaining to Commander Kirk's injuries is classified."

"Are you familiar with the Eugenics wars at the end of the twentieth century?"

"I am."

"Let's just say a relic from that war turned up," McCoy said, "and that his blood has..._unique_ properties."

"Were we to, indeed, say such a thing," Spock said slowly, "surely my reaction would be one of gratitude, as I am Vulcan and place the utmost value on life."

McCoy regarded him over his crossed arms, then shook his head.

"I'm headed home for a shower," he said. "Do you want to ride with me, or do you want to stay here for a while?"

Jim's recovery would not be hastened by Spock's presence, nor would it be hindered. Spock had ascertained Jim's life signs from the monitors, and he had made a personal observation of Jim's chest rising and falling with breath. He wished to stay. He did not know why. Logic did not lead his decision. There was nothing to be gained by sitting at Jim's bedside, and yet the thought of leaving his hospital room was distasteful. Dr. McCoy resided in the same apartment as Spock, whereas Admiral Pike would need to drive the additional time to return Spock home if he chose to stay. That was not practical. He would leave and return tomorrow, perhaps, after his morning lecture. He had a two-hour break, which he usually spent reading or visiting the geology department to inquire about research and internships. He was slated to instruct an introductory lab course beginning in the fall.

"I will return with you," he said and wondered at the feeling he experienced, which was perhaps disappointment.

ooo ooo ooo

Spock returned to the hospital the next morning after Number One's lecture, finding it an easy walk from main campus. He wondered if he would experience trouble gaining re-entrance to Jim's hospital room, but the guard posted to the door checked a PADD, glanced at Spock's student ID, and waved him inside. Spock sat in a chair against the wall close to the door and took out his reading for the following week. He had read 2,003 words of Dr. Korby's translated medical records when the hospital room door opened quietly, and a young woman entered.

She was slender, with dark hair and skin. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she wore a gray Starfleet issue overcoat. He glimpsed a red uniform underneath. She stopped when she saw him.

"Oh," she said, frowning slightly. "He didn't tell me anyone was in here."

Spock rose and held his PADD to his chest. "I will grant you privacy," he said.

"No, no. I was just surprised to see anyone." She regarded him for a moment, and then the corners of her lips raised as her hand did. "_Dif-tor heh smusma_," she spoke in perfect Vulcan. Spock blinked and raised his hand as well.

"_Dif-tor heh smusma_," he spoke in reply.

"You must be Spock," she said, setting down her purse on the floor beside his chair and removing her coat.

"I am."

"Len mentioned you were on planet. I'm Uhura," she said. "I serve with Jim."

"He has made mention of you in his messages to me," Spock said.

"He's made mention of you as well," she said, and her smile brightened. "We made it a point to tease him about his pen pal. So you didn't join the colony?"

"I did not," Spock said, though it occurred to him that Uhura might be speaking rhetorically.

"What track are you on? Command?"

"Science," he replied.

"Specialty?"

"Geology," he said.

"Ah. Well, we could certainly use you on an exploratory mission." She motioned to a second chair on the opposite wall. "Do you mind if I sit next to you? Seems a little weird for us to sit across the room from one another."

Spock wished she would not, but he supposed in the wake of a crisis, humans prefered close contact. He nodded his consent. She took the second chair and brought it beside his, leaving several inches between them, and folded her coat over the back. She sat and did not slouch as he observed humans often do.

"Len said he might be able to hear us," she said, "that visitors could be good for him. I had trouble sleeping last night, wondering..."

"It is documented that individuals in a coma can be aware of their surroundings," Spock said.

"Well, good, because I gave him an earful last night," she said. Her laughter was quiet and faded into a sigh. "So, what about you. Do you intend to work on a starship?"

"I would prefer to be stationed at a base," he said. "Resources aboard a starship are limited."

"But you get to see a lot more if your laboratory is mobile," she said.

"That is true," he agreed. "I have not spent much time in space."

"I hadn't either, before I enlisted, and Len's terrified of it. Jim took to it like water, but then he did live off planet for a while."

"I shall consider it," Spock answered. "You speak Vulcan well."

"I should," she said, and she gave him a smile. "My focus was xenolinguistics. I'm the communications officer on board the _Enterprise_."

They lapsed into silence, and Spock resumed his reading. After twelve minutes, Uhura glanced at her watch.

"I'm surprised Gary isn't here," she murmured. "He said he'd be by this morning. Have you seen him?"

"No," Spock said.

"I figured if I found anyone sitting in here, it'd be him. Must be hard, seeing Jim like this."

"His appearance is alarming," Spock agreed.

"Listen," Uhura said, turning to him. She looked into his eyes directly. Hers were wide and dark. "I'm going to give you my contact information. If anything happens with him, and I'm not here, and Len's not here, you let me know. Okay?"

When she rose to leave three minutes later, she walked to Jim's bedside and stooped to kiss his cheek. "Sweet dreams," Spock heard her whisper. She flashed a smile at him before she exited, her coat draped over her arm.

Spock remained an additional twenty-two minutes. As Uhura had, he approached Jim's bedside. Scanning the monitors, he ascertained that Jim's vital signs were steady. He wondered if Jim could hear him.

"Do not forget our chess game," he said. "It remains your turn."

Jim made no sign that he had heard Spock's words, though Spock had not expected him to. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

"You are a worthy opponent. I am reluctant to search for another."

Spock's eyes drifted to the seam of Jim's lips, as though he could will it to open. Jim's mouth remained still.

"I will return tomorrow," he said finally, and he left.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim stands in a desert. Before him, the sand burns. In the distance, heat curls into a mirage. He longs to reach it. Before him stretches a pathway, a respite from the too-hot sand. He begins to walk. Immediately, sweat pours down his face, stinging his eyes. He becomes aware of a hand in his. Gary walks silently beside him. Jim looks to him, but he cannot see his face. Still, he feels his presence.

The pathway before him is black and white, black and white as he nears an oasis. Gary's hand slips away when Jim spots a tall black figure beside the water.

The figure is unmoving, mysterious and yet somehow familiar. Jim does not look to see where Gary has gone as he reaches out toward it.

ooo ooo ooo

Spock returned the following morning, and every morning thereafter. On the eighth day, Uhura arrived with a cup of tea for him, and they drank in a friendly silence.

"So Gary still hasn't been here," she said after several minutes, crossing her legs. "They keep a log of everyone who comes into this room, and his name's definitely not on it."

Spock did not know what to say in reply, so he said nothing.

"That's pretty low," she continued. "If I were in a coma, and my boyfriend never came to see me once, I'd be pissed when I woke up."

Spock supposed that he, too, would be upset by such a thing.

"Of course, Jim will forgive him the minute Gary smiles at him," she muttered.

"You do not approve of Jim's choice of a partner?" Spock asked. Uhura shrugged.

"Gary's a good guy, and I believe he cares about Jim on some level, just...Jim _died_." She set down her tea and clasped her hands together. "I watched Jim die. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and Gary wasn't there with him. That wasn't his fault; he's navigator on the ship, so it's not like he could leave his post, but I thought he would be here..."

She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. Spock rose and brought her the box of tissues from Jim's bedside table. She laughed.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm not usually this emotional. I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"You are not," Spock said.

"I just love the guy, you know?" she said, dabbing her eyes and folding the tissue in half, smoothing it, then folding it in half again. "It's a far cry from my first impression of him."

Uhura obviously felt compelled to talk about this. Spock did not wish to, but he heard his father's reminder, _What is necessary is never unwise_.

"Oh?" Spock offered.

"He hit on me when I first met him," she said.

Spock's eyes widened, and he glanced to where Jim lay prone on the bed. He could not imagine Jim striking her.

"Oh," she said quickly, obviously realizing his confusion. "It means he made a sexual advance toward me. He didn't hit me; he hit _on_ me. It's an imprecise saying, actually."

"I see," he said.

"He turned out to be a good friend, though," she said thoughtfully, "and he's smart as hell. I'm glad I didn't write him off."

She turned toward him and placed a hand on the arm of his chair but refrained from touching him. He stared down at it.

"You want to grab lunch?" she asked. "I didn't get breakfast today, and I'm starving."

He found that he did not object.

"That would be acceptable," he said and followed her out of the room.

ooo ooo ooo

The fifteenth morning that Spock visited him in the hospital, Jim opened his eyes.

It was a flutter, momentary. Just as quickly as they opened, they fell closed again. Spock stood and passed to his bedside, waiting for Jim to repeat the action. He did not, but Spock pushed the call button and waited for a nurse to answer.

"Bring Dr. McCoy," he instructed. "The commander opened his eyes."

McCoy arrived wearing a scowl, but Spock detected hope—it was an expression he had learned to read on Uhura's face—and stood silently near the door as McCoy went over Jim's charts.

"His brain waves are increasing," he said, pointing to the monitors. "You're certain he opened his eyes?"

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock informed him. "I have reported my observation completely."

"Well, humans are prone to wishful thinking," McCoy said. "Based on these readings, combined with what you saw, I'd say Jim might be gracing us with his presence today."

"Lieutenant Uhura will wish to be contacted," Spock said.

"I should probably give Gary a call," McCoy muttered. "Jim wouldn't be too thrilled if I didn't."

"He has not been here," Spock said.

"No," McCoy said. "But that doesn't surprise me."

McCoy took out his comm and stepped into the hallway. Spock could hear him speaking with Uhura. He could just make out the excited trill of her voice. The male cadence he did not recognize. It caused his stomach to twist. He looked at Jim's face intently, as if by doing so, he might cause Jim's eyes to open once again.

Jim's lips began to quiver, parting slightly. Spock detected a sliver of his tongue. Jim's body twitched once, then again—an involuntary spasm, Spock supposed. Jim's mouth opened, and he gave a an audible exhale. Spock held his own breath, stepping closer.

"Jim," he said. Jim blinked, and Spock felt his own heart rate quicken at the flash of blue.

Jim did not open his eyes again for the next thirteen minutes. There were voices outside the door, but Spock paid them no mind. His attention was fixed on Jim's eyelids. He heard the hospital door open and waited for Uhura's soft footsteps, but he heard instead the sound of heavy boots. A human male with light brown hair, darker than Jim's, and a gold tunic stepped in front of Spock and pulled the sheet back to take Jim's hand. Spock's back came into contact with the wall, and he realized he had stepped backwards. The man held Jim's right hand in his and brought his left to Jim's face, touching the dark shadows beneath his eyes, Jim's pale forehead and the slope of his nose.

"Hey," the man said so quietly that Spock supposed he believed no one else could hear. "Hey, wake up."

Dr. McCoy entered with Uhura. He moved to the opposite side of Jim's bed and prepared a hypospray. Uhura glared at the man—he must be Gary — and came to stand at Spock's side. It took several minutes, but Jim's eyes opened again. He blinked repeatedly, until his eyes teared, and squinted at the light. He did not seem to focus on his surroundings.

"Hey," Gary said, smoothing Jim's hair from his forehead. "Hey, you."

"Hey, baby," Jim murmured, his voice thick. His mouth curved into a smile, and Spock noted that Jim managed to fix his eyes on Gary's face.

"What the hell were you thinking going in there?" Gary whispered fiercely. "Damn it, Jim."

"I don't know why you were worried," Jim said hoarsely. He coughed, and Gary held a glass of water to his lips.

"I know," Gary said as Jim drank. "You think you're too awesome to stay dead."

"Damn straight," Jim said, shifting against the pillow. He cleared his throat. McCoy stuck him in the neck with the hypospray, but Jim did not flinch at it. "Good to see you too, Bones."

"It's about time you woke up, kid," McCoy said, frowning. "You've only been asleep for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Jim repeated.

"Fifteen days, six hours, and thirty-five minutes," Spock supplied. Jim's eyes shifted to meet his, and his face spread in a grin.

"Spock!" he exclaimed. "Shouldn't you be on New Vulcan?"

"I chose to remain on Earth," Spock said. Though his eyes were half-lidded, Jim managed to look surprised.

"You didn't tell me," he said.

"Spock enlisted in Starfleet," Uhura cut in. "We might get lucky and have him on the _Enterprise_ someday."

As the words left her mouth, Gary's head whipped around, and Spock observed his face for the first time. He was an aesthetically pleasing male, with narrowed eyes and skin that crinkled softly around them when he smiled, as he was doing now. His hair looked to be longer than Starfleet regulations permitted humans, and he wore it pushed away from his forehead.

"So you're the Vulcan who's been keeping Jim up so late," Gary said. "Good to finally meet you. I'm Gary." He stuck out a hand. Spock glanced to it, then back at Gary's face. From the way Uhura stiffened beside him, he suspected Gary knew his action to be improper.

"Greetings," Spock said, offering the ta'al instead.

"You know, Jim refuses to play chess with anyone else," Gary added. "Even me."

"Don't listen to him," Jim said. "He doesn't even like chess."

"You must be some opponent," Gary continued.

"I am a Grand Master," Spock offered.

"I bet you are," Gary said and turned back to Jim. Spock suddenly felt out of place in the too small room, neither friend nor stranger, an outsider, as he had been an outsider on his home planet as a child. Jim met his eyes and smiled again.

"I am gratified you are alive," Spock spoke. "I will take my leave of you now."

"Spock, stay!" Jim said. "I haven't seen you in almost a year."

Spock shook his head. He glanced to Uhura at his side, nodded at her, and did the same to McCoy, and walked to the door.

"Actually, I think now's a good time for everyone to take his leave," McCoy said as Spock pulled it open. "I need to run some tests now that Jim's awake."

"I want Gary to stay," he heard Jim say, and the door swung closed.

He stood in the hallway near the elevator until Uhura found him and linked her arm through his. She had not done that before, but he found it comforting and allowed her to hold it as they rode down to the ground level and walked to a bench outside.

"So, Gary's kind of an ass," she said, releasing his arm and settling next to him. "Sorry."

"Clarify."

"We were in Advanced Vulcan Studies together. He knows you don't shake hands. He's just jealous."

"I do not comprehend his jealousy over a chess game," Spock admitted, but the complexities of human emotions escaped him.

"I don't think it's about chess so much as about someone else spending time with Jim," she said, picking at the buttons on her coat. "Even if it's through comm messages. Of course, if _Gary_ wants to spend time with other people..."

"You imply he is unfaithful." Spock regarded her from his peripheral vision, but she did not visibly react.

"No," she said slowly. "Not this time, I don't think." She cleared her throat. "So, there's a photography exhibit at the Fine Arts Museum."

She paused, and he waited for her to continue speaking. He raised an eyebrow as encouragement.

"Anyway," she continued, her face slipping into a grin. "Do you want to come with me, maybe this afternoon?"

"I have a lecture this afternoon," he said.

"What about tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "My only unscheduled afternoon is Saturday, and I spend that time in meditation."

She looked at him, perhaps sadly, and tilted her head to the side. Pursing her lips, she nodded.

"Okay," she said. "Maybe some other time."

"I appreciate the invitation, Lieutenant," he offered.

"Nyota," she said.

"Nyota."

She smiled. "If you change your mind, you know how to reach me."

He would not change his mind, but he agreed.

ooo ooo ooo

"You didn't have to be such a dick," Jim muttered after Spock and Nyota left. He tried to glare at Gary, who stroked the side of his face.

"Just staking my claim," Gary said and leaned down to kiss him. Jim pressed his lips together tightly and felt Gary's mouth on his briefly.

"My mouth is disgusting," he said when Gary pulled away.

"You can brush your teeth in a minute," Bones said. "I need a sample of your blood, and then you're going to rest for a while—"

"I thought you said I've been sleeping for two weeks!"

"—until it's time for lunch. I want to take you off of supplements, get your GI system working again. We'll start you off with a nice salad."

"I hate you," Jim sulked. Gary kissed his forehead and straightened, smoothing his jacket.

"I've got to be somewhere," he said, "but I'll come back later?"

"I'll call you," Jim said. He smiled until Gary was out the door.

"The last year almost made me forget Mr. Mitchell's charms," Bones remarked when it was just the two of them.

"He's just being Gary," Jim said.

"Exactly." Bones held up a scanner and moved it close to Jim's temple.

"So, did you heal me?" Jim asked. "Am I good as new?"

"That superhuman's blood healed you," Bones said.

"Ew," Jim said automatically. "That sounds disgusting. How did you figure it out?"

Bones chuckled and set down the scanner, pulling a chair up next to the bed. He sat down and folded his arms over his chest.

"That tribble—the dead one, do you remember?—its cells began to replicate again, and the damned thing came back to life right when you were being brought into sickbay. We stuck you in one of the cryotubes until we could get more of Khan's blood."

"You caught him?"

"Uhura caught him," Bones said, "and Cupcake. They chased him down in London. She emptied a phaser on him before Cupcake could get him in restraints, but you didn't hear that from me."

"I love that woman," Jim said.

"She loves you too, was in here every day while you were recovering. Spock too."

Jim grinned and looked down at the sheet covering him. He tried to move his right arm, to place it back underneath the covers from where Gary had exposed it, but he didn't have the strength.

"I'm pretty weak," he admitted. "How long is that gonna last?"

"For a few days, most likely," Bones said. "I'm going to keep an eye on your blood pressure, your glucose levels, make sure your body isn't going to have an adverse reaction to the serum. If your body is stable in a day or two, we can talk about you going home, but I want you to be aware that there could be side effects."

"Like what?" Jim asked.

"I have no idea," Bones said. "There's no precedent here. But I do want you to talk with someone in psychology."

"Bones," Jim said, frowning. "This is not a big deal. I'm fine."

"Which I'll believe once someone with a psychology degree speaks with you," Bones said. "No arguing on this one."

"Fine," Jim said. He tried to roll his eyes, but they were sore. He closed them and winced.

"Go back to sleep for a while," Bones instructed. "I'll be here when you wake up."

ooo ooo ooo

Spock did not visit Jim's hospital room again, but he received a communication from McCoy telling him that Jim had been released from the hospital and was in a cab on his way home. Spock made a quick survey of the apartment, straightening the cushions on the sofa, beginning the cleaning cycle on the sonic dishwasher. He opened the curtains in the living room and Jim's bedroom so the apartment was bright.

Jim's smile was the first thing through the door, his arm slung over McCoy's shoulder. Spock watched them from his spot beside the window, rising as they came into the room. Jim had more color in his face than he had in the hospital, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were less noticeable. He wore a t-shirt and tan pants and did not look like a Starfleet officer. Spock felt relief that Gary Mitchell had not accompanied them. McCoy helped Jim to the couch and ran a hand-held scanner over him as Jim stretched out.

"You've got a slight fever," McCoy said, switching it off, "but I suspect it might be due to Khan's blood. His body temperature ran a few degrees warmer than normal." He glanced at his watch. "I have to get back to the hospital. Promise me you'll take it easy. I don't want to hear that you and Gary were out doing celebratory shots all night."

"Even if I wanted to misbehave," Jim said, "I don't have the energy for it."

"If you need anything, you make Spock get it for you, or you call me. Understood?"

McCoy looked to Spock, who nodded in agreement.

"Yes, sir," Jim said, saluting him. He reached for a blanket thrown casually over the back of the couch and pulled it over his legs. Spock heard the front door close.

"Hey, roommate," Jim said as Spock approached him.

"It has been brought to my attention that I should have informed you of my intention to stay," Spock said, stepping to the foot of the couch.

"I admit, I was a little surprised when Bones told me you were still living here."

"Have I angered you?"

"I'm not angry," Jim said. "Just surprised. I'm glad to see you, actually." He settled back against the couch cushions and pulled the blanket up to his chest. "Sit down, would you? It's weird with you just standing there."

Spock sat in the arm chair and placed his hands on his knees.

"How've you been?" Jim asked.

Jim was inquiring after his physical and emotional well being. Pike had taught him that much.

"I endeavor to keep occupied," Spock said. "I am enrolled in an accelerated program, which comprises two calendar years."

"Man, I thought I was fast doing it in three," Jim said, and he gave Spock a smile. He motioned to the coffee table. "Hand me my comm, would you? Gary messaged me when we were in the cab, and I didn't want to write him back in front of Bones."

Spock stood and retrieved Jim's comm, placing it in his hand, careful not to allow their fingers to touch this time.

"He wants to go out," Jim continued, his voice a mutter. "I didn't want Bones to know."

"You should not—" Spock began, but Jim waved a hand in the air lazily.

"I don't have any intention of going out drinking tonight," Jim said. "I don't feel like being around people right now."

"Would you prefer I leave you alone?" Spock asked, prepared to stand. His thigh muscles tightened beneath his hands.

"No," Jim said. "I like having you here."

Spock relaxed. "Would you care to play chess? We can finish our current game."

"In a little while," Jim said. "I'd like that. Right now, I'm starving."

"I will replicate you something," Spock offered, but Jim shook his head.

"I've been in a hospital room for a week, plus the two I was out cold. I don't want to be around a lot of people, but I feel like I'll go crazy if I just sit here."

Spock considered this. It would be best if Jim remained in the apartment, but he was becoming increasingly aware of the importance humans placed on their surroundings to influence mood. It would be better to allow Jim to leave the apartment than force him to stay; if Spock accompanied him, he could ensure that Jim did not overexert himself. Spock's knowledge of the area was limited to the handful of places to which Pike had introduced him, and Starfleet's campus.

"Since you are hungry," Spock said, "the destination should serve food..."

"Agreed," Jim said.

"...and you do not wish to be disturbed."

"Correct."

Spock hit on an idea which satisfied Jim's criteria. "While I cannot guarantee that others will not approach you," he said, "I am familiar with an establishment that serves a dish of which I know you are fond."

"Oh?" Jim said, raising both eyebrows and yawning. "What dish is that?"

"Pizza," Spock said.

"Pizza," Jim repeated. "So I turned you into a pizza addict, huh?"

"Admiral Pike also enjoys it. He has invited me to dine with him on several occasions."

"He's a good guy," Jim said. "I'm glad he's been looking out for you."

"He is my mentor," Spock said. "If you wish it, I will contact him, to inquire whether he is able to join us."

"No," Jim said quickly. "That's okay. Just the two of us is fine." He looked down at his t-shirt. "Can I go like this?"

"Your attire is appropriate," Spock said after a beat.

"Okay," Jim said, and he groaned as he pushed to his feet. Spock remained several feet away from him.

"Do you require assistance?" he asked.

"No," Jim said, and Spock felt a rush of relief. "As long as we go slow."

Spock hailed a cab outside of Jim's building, and they rode in silence to the restaurant where Admiral Pike had taken Spock almost a year before, when he first agreed to enroll in Starfleet, and the academy had assigned Pike as Spock's mentor. The restaurant was busy, buzzing with patrons laughing and eating, but Spock walked purposefully to the host and nodded toward Jim.

"Commander Kirk does not wish to be disturbed," he said in a low voice. "I hope you will accomodate us." The host took one glance at Jim and looked back to Spock, nodding.

"Sure thing," he said. "I have a booth that just opened up." He bent down and picked up two menus, then motioned inside with his head. "Follow me."

The booth was located in the back corner of the restaurant, not within direct sight of the door. Jim sat with his back to the other diners. The restaurant was dark, and their table was poorly lit, just a single candle in a red votive flickering next to the salt and pepper shakers. Spock placed a checkered napkin in his lap and looked at the menu. Jim leaned his head against the wall and watched him quietly.

"What made you change your mind about leaving?" he yawned, resting his left elbow on the table and his fist beneath his ear.

Spock frowned and picked at the edge of the menu, where the lamination had started to pull apart. He himself was still unable to answer that question, which he found puzzling. He had not gone to the new colony because he had been unable to make a decision. That did not mean he had chosen Earth, merely that he had remained where he was, knowing there would always be another shuttle to the colony. It was not the same as having changed his mind.

"I do not know," Spock said finally. The server brought two glasses of ice water with lemon, and Jim ordered a large cheese pizza.

"You're cool with sharing, right?" he asked after the server walked away. "I just realized I didn't even ask what you wanted."

"I do not wish to consume an entire pizza by myself," Spock said. "Therefore, sharing one is—"

"Logical," Jim finished for him, and he cracked a smile. "See, I knew that one."

They spent a large part of the meal in silence, but it was not awkward. Rather, Spock found he enjoyed Jim's presence, the way he traced his fingers along the edge of the table and then looked up as if to see if Spock was still watching him. Jim left his communicator on the table and stared at it every few minutes. Spock supposed he was waiting for a message from Gary and felt irritation at the thought. It displeased him that Gary had such an effect on him. They had met only once. He found Gary's jealousy irrational and without merit. His own reaction to learning of Gary's jealousy was absurd; Spock had no prior claim to Jim, nor did he desire it.

Jim's yawns became more frequent after he consumed half of the pizza, and he began to slump lower in the bench. The comm had not gone off once. Jim had not looked at it for several minutes when he turned it over so the screen was not visible.

"I know Bones said it would take a while to feel normal again," Jim said, "but this blood or whatever has me feeling so strange. I'm exhausted, but I don't think I can sleep."

"If you are unable to sleep," Spock said, "I offer my company."

"Chess tournament?" Jim asked.

"If you are up to the task."

"I may have been recently dead," Jim said, leaning forward, "but I bet I can beat the pants off of you."

Spock hoped this was a human idiom but did not inquire. He signaled the server for their bill, put the total on his credit chip despite Jim's protests, and stood beside him on the sidewalk as they waited for a cab.

"Thanks for this," Jim said, toeing the sidewalk. "I know this probably isn't your thing, but I appreciate you getting me out for a little bit. With Bones off tomorrow, who knows the next time I'll be allowed to stand up on my own."

"Surely, as your medical doctor, McCoy's advice is in the best interest of your recovery."

"Oh, it is," Jim said. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

Jim yawned through the cab ride, so Spock crossed chess off his mental checklist, satisfied with watching Jim enter the elevator on his own. Jim shrugged out of his jacket just inside the front door and toed off his shoes, leaving them both in the entry. Spock straightened them and followed after Jim. He shuffled to the bedroom, pushing the door open, and frowned when he saw the air mattress.

"You're kidding me," he said. "You've been sleeping on this for almost a year?"

"I have," Spock said.

"You should've taken my bed," Jim said. "Hell, even the couch is better than this piece of crap."

"I require significantly less sleep than a human," Spock informed him. "This provides sufficient support while I am resting."

"Still," Jim said. "If you're planning to stay here, and you're welcome to, we should really get you something better."

"There is no need," Spock said. "Within a year, I will graduate from the academy, and then I hope to be assigned to a base, where lodging will be provided."

"It was one thing when you were just here temporarily, but I'm going to feel like an ass sleeping in this huge bed while you're on the floor."

"It is your bed. I am the one who has been living in your room without express permission for the better part of a year. Your misplaced guilt is thus—"

"Illogical. Okay, fine." Jim sank onto the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes and smiled. "Man, I missed this mattress. Seriously, you didn't sleep on it once while I was gone?""

"I did not," Spock said.

"Well," Jim said, grinning as he pulled off his shirt, "if the situation had been reversed, I sure as hell would have stolen your bed."

ooo ooo ooo

Gary came by the next afternoon with coffee for himself and for Jim, setting the to-go cups on the coffee table and flinging his leather jacket across the arm chair. He settled next to Jim on the couch, sliding an arm around his shoulder and kissing his temple. Jim set down his PADD and closed his eyes.

"Hey," Gary said. "Missed you last night."

"You could have come here," Jim said quietly.

"McCoy said you needed rest, didn't he?" Gary ran his fingers through Jim's hair, and Jim leaned into his hand. "What kind of rest would you have gotten with me around?"

"I guess," Jim said, shrugging. Gary dropped his hand to Jim's neck and began to rub twin circles where the muscles were tight. "Where did you end up going?"

"Olson and I hit up Cochrane's."

It was stupid that he felt jealous. Jim didn't want to go out last night, but that didn't mean Gary wasn't allowed. And it wasn't like Jim had anything to worry about with Olson. He'd caught him eyeing up Gaila more times than he could count. If Jim dressed Keenser in a skirt, Olson would probably ogle him. Still, the feeling was there in his stomach, a mix of anger and resentment over Gary's decision to go out. If Gary had been the one just home from the hospital, Jim would have stayed with him no matter what, not hit up his usual watering hole.

"I haven't been there in a few years," Jim said. "Not since..."

"First year at academy," Gary finished for him. "I still remember how you looked leaning over that bar."

"Is there anything about me you like more than my ass?" Jim asked.

"Your face isn't bad," Gary said. Jim rolled his eyes and rested his head on Gary's shoulder.

"I don't have anything tonight," Gary said against his hair, "so if you want, I'm all yours. Whatever you want to do."

"Yeah?" Jim said, brightening. "Uhura was telling me about a photography exhibit we could check out."

"We can do that if you feel up to walking," Gary said, "or I'll sit through that vid you're always harping on me to watch."

"So it only took my death to convince you to watch _Citizen Kane, _huh?" Jim asked, lifting his pad and tapping the program for the vid screen.

"That was an easy decision," Gary said with a laugh. "I figure, if you like it that much, maybe I'll like it too."

"You might hate it, but you're sitting through the whole thing now. Go replicate popcorn, would you?" Jim asked. Gary ruffled his hair and stood up.

"Yessir. Anything else?"

"Hot chocolate," Jim said. "Preferably spiked."

"I'll check the cabinets, but if McCoy finds out, I'm pleading innocent," Gary called on his way to the kitchen. Jim tapped the PADD screen and navigated his film collection.

Gary fell asleep fifteen minutes in, so Jim continued to watch the movie in silence, resting his cheek against Gary's chest. After thirty minutes, Spock emerged from the bedroom—Jim guessed he'd been meditating, maybe—and sat on the armchair, moving Gary's jacket out of the way. Jim smiled at him, and he noted how Spock's expression was softer than it had been the night before. It was still carefully neutral, but there was a kindness behind it. Jim motioned to the half-eaten bowl of popcorn. Spock held it on his lap and ate it piece by piece.

"Gary didn't touch his hot chocolate, so it's yours if you want it," Jim said.

"I do not," Spock said.

"It's not the greatest," Jim admitted. "We didn't have any booze, and the synthohol our replicator cranks out is shit. The good stuff is made from milk and cocoa. You probably don't have that on Vulcan."

"It is not native, but my mother often brought it back with her from Earth."

"She liked Terran stuff, huh?" Jim asked.

"My mother was human," Spock said. His voice had not changed, and yet Jim somehow knew his tone to be sad.

"Oh!" Jim exclaimed, sitting up slightly where he rested between Gary's legs and turning to face Spock. "I didn't know."

"I did not expect you would."

Jim wrapped his arms around his knees and regarded Spock openly. "How'd they meet, your folks?"

Spock motioned to the screen. "Do you wish to pause your video?"

"Nah," Jim said. "I've seen this so many times, I have it memorized, and Gary's asleep anyway. I'd rather hear about you."

Spock frowned slightly. He took another piece of popcorn from the bowl and crunched it before answering.

"My father was the Vulcan ambassador to Earth," he said. "They met through his work on this planet. My mother worked on the Universal Translator. My father believed it was logical to take a Terran bride, because his work required him to have a keen understanding of your culture."

"So it wasn't a _Romeo and Juliet_ story?" Jim asked, resting his chin on his knees.

"I do not follow," Spock said.

"Shakespeare," Jim clarified. "I'm guessing you didn't study him."

"No."

"_Romeo and Juliet_ is an iconic love story in English literature," Jim explained. "Boy and girl meet and fall in love, but it turns out their families hate one another. They get married anyway, but...well, actually, it doesn't end well. Probably not a good comparison."

"I see," Spock said. "I would not describe my parents in that fashion." He dropped his eyes to the bowl, which Jim noted was rapidly emptying.

"Does it bother you to talk about them?" he asked.

Spock lifted an eyebrow but didn't meet Jim's eyes. "Should it?"

"It would probably bother me," Jim admitted. "If I'm being too nosy, just tell me to shut up."

"I will not," Spock said, but he didn't offer any more information about his parents. Outside, the sky was beginning to grow dark. Gary lightly snored behind him. Jim rolled his eyes and pushed the blanket off of his legs.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," Spock said.

"What do you say to chess in the kitchen, and we can replicate something to eat?"

Spock's gaze shifted to Gary, then back to Jim in silent question.

"Don't worry about him," Jim muttered, carefully standing up so as not to disturb Gary. "He'll be out for a while as long as we aren't too loud. I should have known he'd never make it through a movie."

"It is an odd form of entertainment," Spock said, rising from the chair and following Jim into the kitchen. "Where is your chess board?"

"Shit," Jim swore. "It's back on the ship, but I have a digital version on my PADD?"

"That is acceptable," Spock said. "We are thirty-eight moves into our last game, and it remains your turn."

"And you're trying to steal my queen," Jim said, poking him in the chest before turning to the replicator. "I didn't save the game on my PADD, though, so unless you memorized our moves, we'll have to start over."

"I have an eidetic memory," Spock said and held out his hand for the PADD.

"No kidding," Jim said, handing it over. He scanned the menu. "What do you feel like eating? Pasta?"

"That is fine," Spock said.

"Fine has variable definitions," Jim pointed out, and Spock stared at him for a moment before his mouth twitched.

"Indeed," he said.

"What do you _really_ want to eat?" Jim asked.

"It is illogical to have a preference for one food versus another."

"I didn't say anything about logic," Jim said, grinning at him. "I'm talking about _wanting_. What do you want?"

"There is a French dish," Spock said after a pause, dipping his head, "of which I have become rather fond."

Jim bit his lip and accessed the replicator history, scrolling down through the list. 'Fond' was an understatement. Spock had replicated the same meal almost daily for a month. "Ratatouille, huh?" he said. "I didn't even realize we had that on the menu. Bones'll be thrilled. Okay. You enter our chess moves, and I'll replicate a couple plates of vegetables for your enjoyment."

Spock did, and they played over stew while Jim picked out the bell peppers. Despite his best efforts, Spock did take his queen, but Jim managed a checkmate without her and threw up his hands in victory.

"Would you care to play again?" Spock suggested.

"I would, Mr. Spock, thank you," Jim said and pressed the reset command.

ooo ooo ooo

Spock was satisfied, having bested Jim at their second game of chess, and he was about to suggest a third when Gary walked into the kitchen, stretching. Something in Spock's stomach felt heavy, and he fought to keep the frown off of his face.

"Fell asleep," Gary announced. Spock would not look at him, focusing his eyes on the crisp edge of Jim's PADD, the notification on the screen declaring him a winner. "How was the rest of the movie?"

"Same as always," Jim said brightly, turning around in his chair to look up at Gary. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," Gary said, rubbing his stomach. "You want to go out to eat?"

"Spock and I already ate, but I can make you something." Jim pressed the side button on the PADD, and the screen went dark. He stood and took their plates to the sink.

"Why don't we get takeout on the way back to my place?" Gary suggested, leaning into Jim's side. Spock dropped his hands to his lap and clasped them together.

"Okay," Jim said, wiping his hands on his pants. "Let me grab a few things."

He left the kitchen, leaving only Spock and Gary, who lingered in the doorway.

"You don't mind if I borrow Jim for the night, do you?" he asked, smiling. Spock shook his head. "Thanks for keeping him company. I always fall asleep when he turns on those vids. I don't know how he sits through them."

"It was nothing," Spock said, raising his eyes to Gary's for the first time. It was a human expression, one Spock had heard his mother utter. It sounded foreign on his tongue, but Gary accepted it.

"So you've got a few more years at the academy, huh? How are you liking it so far?"

"I have one year remaining," Spock said. "I find it challenging and have obtained excellent marks in all subjects."

"Just a year?" Gary asked, straddling the chair Jim had occupied. His eyes were widened, which Spock took to mean as surprise. "How'd you manage that?"

"An accelerated program is available to all students with my aptitude scores," Spock replied. "I understand Jim completed the program in three years, which is remarkable for a human."

"You're not a Vulcan supremacist, are you?" Gary asked.

"It is not supremacist to acknowledge that Vulcans are adept at absorbing large amounts of information," Spock told him, straightening in his chair, "and that we both understand and retain that knowledge."

"He's a genius," Jim said, winking at Spock from the doorway. He held a toothbrush and a small bag. Spock supposed it contained a change of clothing. "You ready?"

"Ready as rain," Gary said, slapping his thighs as he rose. The action made a sharp noise that caused Spock's hands to jerk involuntarily. He steeled them in his lap. "Spock, good to see you."

It had not, Spock decided, been good to see Gary, but he did not say so. Instead, he gave a tight nod which Gary accepted and cast his eyes to Jim.

"See you tomorrow," Jim said with one hand on Gary's lower back as they walked toward the front door and out of view. The door opened with a squeak of well-used hinges and closed dully.

Spock let out a breath he had not realized he held and rose from the table. Jim had left his PADD behind. Spock left it where it lay—perhaps they would play another game of chess tomorrow—and went into the bedroom to study and meditate. He had forty-five pages of reading he must complete before his morning classes. Doing so would be infinitely simpler now that the apartment was quiet, though a small part of him desired Jim's company for another chess game. He blocked it, taking his own PADD in hand and calling up his textbooks.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim kicked his foot into the kitchen island repeatedly, until Pike turned around from where he fiddled with the coffee maker and eyed him levelly.

"If you leave marks on the drywall," he said, raising both eyebrows to emphasize his point, "you'll have to be the one to tell Number One about it."

Jim stilled his foot and grinned, sitting back on the bar stool and shaking his head.

"She's got you whipped," he said.

Pike leaned a hip against the counter and waited for the coffee to begin brewing. Jim liked that Pike made coffee the old-fashioned way. He bought whole roasted coffee beans at a specialty store—they were apparently hard to come by—ground just the amount he planned to use, and brewed just as much as he intended to drink. Jim had ordered fresh-brewed from his favorite coffee shop, but the way Pike prepared it tasted like a million credits. Of course, anything tasted better than replicated, plus this made the whole apartment smell good. Jim wished he could have a coffee maker in his quarters on the _Enterprise_, but with the limited space, it wasn't practical when the replicated variety contained just as much caffeine and didn't require filters and regular cleaning.

"How long have you been back on Earth now, six weeks?" Pike asked.

"Seven," Jim corrected him.

"I bet you're itching to get back up there,"

"Is that because you're itching to get back up there, sir?" Jim grinned at him across the counter.

"Some," Pike said. "It was hard watching you boys take her."

"Are you planning to go back, now that you've got your legs back?"

Pike shook his head, opening the cabinet and taking down two mugs. He set them next to the coffee machine and watched as the pot filled drip by drip.

"They'd have to demote me," he said, "and I think they have plans to use me for recruiting efforts. There's talk of a lecture circuit, maybe a book. On top of that, Number One spent two years on a scientific mission out in the Gamma quadrant the last time I was assigned to a starship. We talked once a week if we were lucky. We got one afternoon at a starbase together partway through the second year. I admit, I've gotten spoiled having her back. It's been nice getting to spend time with her again."

Jim imagined what it would be like if he and Gary were assigned to different ships, if he had to wait two years just to _see_ him again, let alone... Two years without sex? That didn't qualify as fun in Jim's book. He wondered if Gary would even be willing to give it a shot. The thought made him scowl. He shook it off, accepting the mug of coffee Pike held out to him.

"So I assume you came here for a reason," Pike said, "not just for my coffee."

"You should open a cafe," Jim suggested.

"Number One has mentioned that before."

"I have a favor to ask," Jim began, adding two scoops of sugar into his mug and stirring. What Bones didn't know couldn't hurt him. Jim added a third.

"I can't speed up the launch schedule," Pike told him, tilting his head. "You're grounded for a year, the whole crew, until repairs are finalized and psych evals come back clear."

"It's not that," Jim said, shaking his head. "This is a personal favor."

"Oh?" Pike said and came to sit in the stool beside him.

"You know Spock," Jim said, raising the mug to his mouth and blowing.

"I do," Pike confirmed, resting both elbows on the counter. Jim dimly wondered if Number One allowed that, or if Pike was indulging in her absence.

"Well, I found out he's half human," Jim continued, "and I was wondering if you had access to his files, knew anything about his mother's family. If they're still living."

Pike narrowed his eyes and regarded Jim as he took a long sip, grimacing from the heat. He set the mug down and folded his hands together.

"Aren't _you_ the computer hacker?" Pike said knowingly. "Why don't you just break into the Academy database?"

"I thought about it," Jim confessed, "but I figured it would take just as much energy to ask you. Besides, you know him pretty well."

"As well as he'll let me," Pike said. "He's pretty private."

"I wanted to check with you first, to make sure this wouldn't piss him off."

"The fact that you're looking up details about his family?"

"Yeah." Jim wrapped both hands around the mug and bit his lip, turning his head to the side so he could get a better view of Pike's face. "I mean, I was thinking, if they're still alive, I would take him to see them."

Pike's eyes widened, and he seemed to consider Jim's words. "It'll probably piss him off," he said after a few seconds, "since you'd be accessing his records without his knowledge or consent. Hell, it'd piss me off."

"Damn," Jim said.

"I didn't know about his mother," Pike added. "He doesn't talk about his parents."

"Do you think that's normal?"

"He's Vulcan," Pike said. "Their culture is vastly different from ours, and they process things in different ways."

"What if...what if we just _look up_ the information, to see if they're living," Jim suggested. "If they are, I'll talk with him about it. If they're not, we can pretend this never happened."

"I assume that if I refuse, you'll hack his records anyway."

"You should never assume anything," Jim reminded him. "But in this case, you're correct."

Pike gave a theatrical sigh and slapped both hands on the counter. "There's no time like the present," he said, nodding toward his office door. "Come on. Computer's this way."


	3. Chapter 3

Spock glanced at Jim across the console in the aircar, keeping his hands folded politely on his lap. Jim wore gray pants and a black t-shirt, and a pair of tinted glasses which were intended to protect his eyes from the sun but which Spock suspected Jim wore for aesthetic purposes as much as practical. His arms were bare, and he had a purple bruise on his neck. Spock glared at it, wondering at its origin, suspecting it was what he had heard Nyota term a "love mark." Spock looked away from it quickly, to Jim's hands on the steering wheel. Jim grinned at Spock widely, returning his eyes to the road as they sped north along the highway.

"It was generous of Admiral Pike to allow you the use of his aircar," Spock said.

"Yeah, well, I saved his ass, so. He owes me." Jim grinned.

"What is our destination?" Spock asked.

"Promise you won't get mad?" Jim said, leaning his left arm in the open window. The sunlight caught his hair, and it appeared lighter than usual, glinting as if auriferous. Spock was fascinated by the color. Gold had not been naturally occuring on Vulcan.

"I will make no such promise," Spock responded, recalling Jim's question.

"I sort of...looked up your family here on Earth," Jim said. Spock set his jaw as Jim continued. "A couple weeks ago. I know I should have told you. Pike said you'd be pissed about me interfering in your life, but I wanted to do something nice for you."

"You owe me no debt," Spock said. "Further, if I desired to locate my surviving family members, I would have—"

"Done it yourself," Jim finished. "Yeah, I know. It's just...well, honestly, I don't think you ever would have. And I think this is important."

A plume of anger began to rise in Spock's chest at Jim's words. Jim had no right to interfere, but he had not done so out of malice. He believed his intentions to be honorable, even benevolent and beneficial. Spock curled his hands to fists and counted to eighteen, nineteen, twenty until the tension left his forearms.

"You should have informed me," Spock said finally.

"Would you have agreed to come?" Jim asked, glancing at him before looking back to the road and guiding the car around a curve.

Spock looked down to his own hands, clasped together tightly.

"I didn't think so," Jim said. "Anyway, they live in a little fishing town a couple hours north. I checked with Number One. You don't have an exam tomorrow, and I made sure to grab your PADD. It's in the back seat. I figure we'd go for a couple hours, grab lunch, talk, then head home. If we need to, we'll pull into a motel."

"You have contacted them?"

"I talked with your aunt," Jim said. "She's really excited to see you."

Spock allowed himself to sigh—it was not something he did often, but he felt the situation warranted a sigh. The aircar moved much slower than a shuttle, but the ride was pleasant and smooth. He rested his head against the glass, and from the corner of his eye, he allowed his gaze to once again fall upon Jim's hands.

Jim switched on the music player, and Spock prepared himself for an onslaught of what Terrans termed "music" but was, in actuality, uncultured noise. Nyota was fond of this sort of entertainment, he had found out when she suggested he meet for breakfast at her apartment. He was surprised when the speakers began to play what he recognized as an early nineteenth century Terran classical symphony.

"I'm not as uncultured as you think," Jim said, and Spock raised an eyebrow at his choice of word, it having just crossed his own mind not a minute before. Spock took the opportunity to fetch his PADD from the back seat. Jim had packed it into a small duffel bag along with a change of clothes for himself, their toothbrushes, and what looked to be a t-shirt and shorts for sleeping. He closed the bag, powered on his PADD, and read the next two class assignments for his astrophysics lecture.

Jim did not disturb him, seemingly content staring at the scenery as he drove. Spock found the environment well suited to studying. Though he rarely studied in the presence of another, he found that Jim's conscious breathing was not an irritant, just as it had not been an irritant as Spock sat by the door of his hospital room reading.

The coastal landscape shifted, and Spock found himself laying his PADD on his lap as on both sides of the road, great trees covered in a thick reddish bark stretched skyward. The sunlight filtered down from above, making the forest appear almost as a cathedral.

"These are the redwoods," Jim said, the first he'd spoken in sixty-two minutes. "They're beautiful, right?"

"They are...magnificent," Spock said, and he continued to stare at them.

"Some of them can live a couple thousand years," Jim said. "They'll outlive you and me. Gary and I have always said we'll come up here someday, maybe go camping."

Spock frowned at the mention of Gary's name, then schooled his features into careful neutrality. He would not allow Mr. Mitchell to affect him further. He did not understand why Gary affected him at all.

"Speaking of Gary," Jim said, feeling in the cup holder for his comm, "I'd better give him a call."

Spock's eyes remained fixed on the trees, on the curve of the road before them. Vulcan had lacked trees. With water such a scarce resource, the native plant life had adapted to the largely desert environment. Most plants had grown low to the ground. Few stretched past Spock's height, let alone as tall as buildings. The sheer magnitude of the specimens he observed caught his breath. He had not witnessed them for nineteen years. He did not listen to Jim's voice, nor the words he spoke to Gary as they drove. Indeed, he did not come back to himself until he felt Jim's hand close around his forearm. Jim's own superficial thoughts passed into him, though muted by the fabric—concern, amusement, amity.

"Hey," Jim said. "Earth to Spock. You okay?"

"Why would you presume that I am not?" Spock replied, aware that his heart rate and respiration had increased. Jim's palm was hot through Spock's sleeve. He tensed as if the touch were branding him. It was all too familiar, and the barrage of stolen memories surfaced.

"Oh, I don't know," Jim said as his hand retreated, once again clasping the steering wheel. Spock found he could not remove his eyes from it, so he closed them. "Maybe because I've been calling your name for the last two minutes, and you've been unresponsive. I was about to pull the car over. Were you in a trance or something?"

Spock nodded, which appeased Jim, because he returned his attention to driving and did not touch Spock further. Spock accessed his body's functions and lowered his heart rate and breathing to normal levels. He took several deep breaths and willed himself to forget the shape of Jim's hand on his skin. He envisioned his emotional controls and went through the routine of flipping switches until his body and mind were Vulcan once more. His human half cowered; he raised shields against it.

Jim indicated a power station up ahead. "Car's got plenty of charge, but I've gotta take a leak," he announced. Spock appreciated his bluntness, he supposed, if not his choice of phrase. Spock too found he could urinate. It was not urgent. His bladder did not require immediate voiding, but it would not be logical to wait with a facility available.

He wished he had waited, however, when Jim dragged him into the single room and locked the door. Spock would have preferred a natural setting. The room was not clean, and it smelled stale. He held his breath.

"I'll take the urinal," Jim said, unzipping his pants and turning his back to Spock, "you take the toilet. Or the sink. Your choice. I'm not one to judge."

Spock had been in a shared bath facility before—indeed, he had been alone in a fresher with Jim before—but he felt paralyzed by the sight of Jim standing so easily in front of Spock with his pants open, a hand on his genitals.

"I really need to cut back on the coffee," Jim announced, and it was enough to shake Spock from his daze. He quickly moved to the toilet, aware that he his shoulder was only thirteen inches from Jim's, and moved his robes aside. That he touched himself as Jim touched himself caused Spock's face to flush.

This was necessary. This was practical.

A whooshing signaled the sonic cleaning cycle had begun on the urinal, and Jim was moving to the sink to sanitize his hands. Spock finished quickly—as a Vulcan, his body was efficient with water conservation, and there had been less than point three ounces to expel—and joined Jim at the sink.

"You're looking pretty green," Jim observed in the mirror. Spock looked up and met Jim's eyes in the reflection. It was the first time he had ever seen them side by side. Spock was taller by two inches, and yet Jim's presence in the mirror was commanding. He grinned at Spock, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I guess that's normal for you, though, huh?"

He bumped Spock with his shoulder. It was a moment before Spock found his voice.

"It is," he said quietly, moving his hands beneath the pressurized mist while Jim wiped his palms on his pants to dry them.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Jim asked, leaning his shoulder against the door. "I'm gonna run inside and grab a soda. I'm starting to get highway hypnosis, and we've got another forty-five minutes or so."

"I am fine," Spock said.

"You know what they say about that word," Jim reminded him and pushed the door open with his hip.

ooo ooo ooo

Fort Bragg was located a hundred and seventy miles north of San Francisco. With the aircar averaging seventy miles an hour, they reached it in only two and a half hours, right in time for lunch. It was a small town, only a few blocks deep, buildings mostly single story. Jim grinned at the quaint appearance. It looked straight out of some of the twenty-first century films he so loved, and he winked at Spock as he turned the wheel and steered them off of the main road.

"I don't know how much you know about your mom's family," Jim said.

"We have not corresponded regularly," Spock replied, "though my mother kept a photograph of her sister in her study. As a child, she encouraged me to speak with my cousins, but my father felt their influence was potentially..." he paused and appeared to mull over his options.

"Negative?" Jim suggested, glancing at him.

"Confusing," Spock said.

"Ah," Jim said. He'd had doubts all morning about this trip he'd planned, wondering if it would be better to fess up to Spock before they got on the road but run the risk of him refusing to come. Jim reasoned that if he told Spock his intentions once they were a distance out of San Francisco, Spock would decide it wasn't practical to turn around, though Jim had been prepared to had he demanded it.

The house was yellow, with clapboard siding and an A-frame roof over a small front porch. The front door was a light orange, and Jim raised a hand to knock, standing back and shoving his hands into his pockets. Spock stood stiffly beside him, his chin lifting as footsteps approached from inside the house and the door opened. A very human woman stood in the door frame. Jim had half expected her to be Vulcan herself, even though he knew this was Amanda Grayson's sister, an Earth woman born and raised. She was petite, with dark hair and eyes. Jim tried and failed to see some of Spock in her face.

"Spock," she said warmly, though she did not extend a hand. Her smile was genuine. Jim wondered if she looked like Spock's mother. "I don't know if you remember me. I'm your Aunt Doris."

"Of course," he said, raising his hand in the Vulcan greeting. "Live long and prosper."

Her smile deepened, and she returned the greeting, then turned her eyes to Jim.

"You must be Jim Kirk," she said, extending her hand. "I'm so glad you called."

"Ma'am," Jim said, shaking her hand. She held the door wider and ushered them both inside. The house reminded Jim a little of his childhood home in Riverside, the way the floorboards creaked when he walked over them, the way the walls needed paint touchups and the wood trim around the door had faded at the edges from so many fingers brushing it.

"Did you find the place okay?" she asked over her shoulder as she led them through the short hallway into the open kitchen and living room.

"Just fine," Jim said. "Made record time. We only stopped once."

"Well, make yourselves at home," she said. "I figured we'd catch up for a while, then go out for a bite before you boys have to head back south. That gives us a couple hours, right?"

"At least," Jim said. "If we have to, we'll just grab a hotel for the night."

"Nonsense," she said. "You can stay in one of the boys' rooms."

On the wall in the living room, over a well-used leather sofa, were framed photographs. Most were of Doris, a man Jim presumed was her husband, and two boys who had her eyes. They grew in the photographs, and he spotted two he recognized as graduation shots. They must be Spock's age, at least, he reasoned. He glimpsed a single small photograph of Spock and a human woman, and he walked over to it. The woman strongly resembled Doris, with darker hair. Spock looked to be about ten years old, with a more rounded face but the same serious expression. The woman smiled, though it was subdued with no visible teeth. She rested a hand on Spock's shoulder.

"That was my mother," Spock said quietly, having come to stand beside him.

"She was beautiful," Jim said. The corner of Spock's mouth twitched, and Jim had a sudden urge to hug him but refrained. Instead, he held up a hand and touched it lightly to Spock's upper arm. Spock tensed, as he had tensed in the car, but Jim let his hand linger. He squeezed gently.

"She was," Doris agreed. "She was one of a kind. I took that picture the only time they visited us here. We kept meaning to get out to Vulcan, but with the boys in school and Joe working, we just never made it. I always felt bad about that. I know it would have meant a lot to her."

She looked down, and Jim saw her take a deep breath. He supposed they had been close. He'd never had a great relationship with his brother, mostly because of the age difference and the fact that Sam had run off so many years earlier. He wondered how he'd feel if he ever heard Sam had died. He released Spock's arm and turned toward her fully.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he told her. She gave a sad smile and looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said, motioning toward the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Just water," Jim said, following her a few steps. "Thanks."

"Spock?"

"I will also take water," he said, coming forward until his shoulder was again even with Jim's.

"Did you study on Vulcan, Jim?" Doris asked from where she stood at the sink. "Is that how the two of you met?"

"I'm a member of Starfleet. My ship was involved in the rescue efforts," he told her, "during the evacuation."

"Oh, I see," and placed three glasses of ice on a red tray beside a pitcher of water, carrying it to the living room. She sat on a love seat, so Jim plopped down on the couch. Spock sat politely a full cushion away.

"And then he needed a place to stay once we were back on Earth, and my apartment is pretty big, so he's been our third wheel."

"That was kind of you. When I heard..." she let out a sigh. "Well, you can imagine my relief when you called. I honestly believed they were all..." She looked to Spock, who looked back at her neutrally. "I cried after I got off the phone with Jim, honey; you have no idea how glad I was to hear you were safely on Earth."

"I should have informed you of my status," Spock spoke then.

"Just promise me you'll come visit sometimes," she said. "It gets lonely with just me here. The boys are off planet, and Joe passed ten years ago this June."

"I grieve with thee," Spock said. Jim wondered if anyone had ever offered Spock the same sympathy.

"He always liked you," Doris said, settling back against the cushions. "Used to brag about his nephew the genius. He never forgot how fascinated you were with the spiderweb in the garage, or how you solved Lester's calculus equations in your head while the rest of us were struggling over the textbook examples."

The conversation turned to Spock's education on Vulcan, and soon Doris was ushering them out the door to her own aircar, which they took to a nearby restaurant.

"Do you boys eat seafood?" she asked.

"I eat anything," Jim said. "Spock eats anything as long as it's vegetarian."

"Oh, that's right," she said, flipping on her turn signal and steering into the parking lot of a ramshackle building on a small harbor. "Mandy tried getting me into that, but I never could give up a good steak."

"A woman after my own heart," Jim said, and she smiled at him in the rear-view mirror.

"I like this one," she said to Spock. "Keep him around."

ooo ooo ooo

They did not spend the night at his aunt's home, though she had repeated the invitation over lunch. At four thirty, Jim suggested they leave if they were planning to return tonight, so they could drive in the daylight. Doris hugged Jim goodbye on her porch, whispering something in his ear that made him grin and shake his head.

"You'd better come with Spock the next time he visits," she said.

"I promise," Jim said. "We'll have to try the key lime pie next time."

"We will," she agreed.

"I'll wait in the car," Jim told Spock and hopped off of the porch. Doris turned to Spock.

"Would you be angry if I hugged you?" she asked. Her eyes were his mother's eyes. There was no harm in it, he reasoned. He bowed his head and stepped forward. She wrapped her arms around him, as his mother had often wrapped her arms around him. He closed his eyes and imagined her. "I love you so much," Doris said against his shoulder. "And I'm so proud of you. I know your mom would be too."

Stepping back, she pressed the framed photograph of Spock and his mother into his hand, and he stared at it. His voice caught in his throat, but he managed to speak.

"Thank you," he said. He held it in his hands as Jim started the car and began the drive back toward San Francisco.

"You're aunt's pretty cool," Jim said, sliding on his sunglasses and glancing at him. "Are you glad we went?"

"I am," Spock said, tracing the edge of the frame with his right index finger.

Jim appeared satisfied, smiling and biting his lip and he returned his eyes to the road. "I won't lie," he said. "I was a little afraid you might choke me to death or something."

Spock felt a puff of air escape his lips—had he laughed? He quirked an eyebrow and concentrated his focus on the photograph. He remembered the journey to Earth well. They had accompanied Sarek on official business and stayed at the Vulcan embassy. Sarek was in frequent meetings, so Spock's mother had borrowed a car and driven them up the coast. They had stopped to look at the ocean, and she had pulled over to allow him to touch the great trees.

"I-Chaya would've had a field day in this forest," she had said with a laugh. He had taken with him a rock he found at the base of a tree he decided I-Chaya would have liked best. He had displayed it on the windowsill in his bedroom beside a crude carving he had made of his sehlat.

Spock was surprised when Jim pulled the car over into a small gravel area and shut off the car.

"Go on," he said, motioning to the forest. "I need to stretch my legs, and I know you want to explore."

"The sunlight..." Spock began.

"It's not that late, and besides, we have headlights," Jim said. "Come on."

The forest was quiet, and yet there was an abundance of sound: the snap of branches, the creak of limbs swaying gently in the breeze, the scurry of animals. When he closed his eyes, he could smell the ocean, the soil, the mustiness that surrounded the trees. The wind touched his face, and he felt clean.

Jim's footsteps came up quietly behind him.

"Spock?"

"Yes?" he answered. Jim came to his side. Spock looked to him. Jim opened his mouth and closed it, furrowing his brow and staring at the ground covered in fine needle-shaped foliage.

"I know this really isn't appropriate," he began, "but it's just...if I don't say this I'll feel like a piece of shit." He grasped Spock's wrist and held it in the space between them. "I am so sorry about everything that's happened to you."

His eyes shifted between Spock's, as if he searched for something. Spock was caught by the color. He had encountered beings with blue eyes before. The trait was not common on Vulcan, though it was not a genetic impossibility. He had never considered the color of Jim's eyes in any detail. He had stopped at blue, content they were not hazel. Now they stared into his own, bright blue, open and expectant—blue not as the sky, as he had once thought in passing. It was a shade he had seen only once before, in a fluorite sample from Zaran II. He had illogically cherished it, never daring to admit his preference. Such a thing was surely human. The mineral had stood out in contrast to the red of his own planet, fresh and alluring, as Jim's eyes drew him in now. Spock felt emotion well within him, a plume rising hot from his core, his eyes widening with a sting in the corners as Jim pulled him close.

"I _grieve_ with thee," he whispered against Spock's ear, arms tight around his back, hair soft against Spock's cheek. Spock stood paralyzed, arms at his sides. He closed his eyes tightly and inhaled. Jim's scent overwhelmed him, overpowering the fragrance of the surrounding woods. Spock felt a heat curl low in his stomach, something white hot and unfamiliar. He pictured it as a bright spot and sought to capture it, control it, but Jim released him before he regained his balance. Spock opened his eyes again to see Jim smiling at him. He clapped Spock on the shoulder and began walking back to the car.

Spock spent the remainder of the ride replaying what had happened, the texture of Jim's hair, the pressure of his arms around Spock's body, the heat of his breath. Jim leaned an arm lazily out the car window, humming along with Mozart, and his smile widened when his comm chirped.

"That's probably Gary," he said, flipping it open. Spock prepared to advise him to keep his vision on the road, but Jim only glanced at the screen and dropped the comm back in his lap. "It's Sulu," he said. "My captain. Told me to check my messages when I get home. Must be progress with the ship. Maybe they've figured out a way to get us back out there before next February."

Jim gripped the wheel a little tighter, and Spock felt the speed of the aircar increase. Spock frowned at the idea of Jim leaving for another mission. Nyota would leave with him, and Spock would again be alone in San Francisco. He wondered why it had occurred to him or why it mattered.

It was just getting dark when they returned the aircar to Pike's apartment, and Jim insisted on walking home after they spent a few minutes "bullshitting," as Jim had phrased it, with Number One. Jim walked at a rapid pace, which Spock appreciated, because they arrived home with ample time to study and meditate before Spock rested for the night.

"I know you've put up with me all day," Jim said as he set his sunglasses and keys in a dish in the hallway. Spock had placed it there for that purpose, and he was pleased Jim had understood his suggestion. "But are you up for a game of chess? Just one tonight, I swear."

"I will prepare our beverages," Spock said in reply, and his heart beat irregularly when Jim brightened. He considered reporting it to Dr. McCoy, but with his limited knowledge of Vulcan biology, he doubted the doctor would offer much in terms of practical advice. Spock documented the date and time and filed the information away in his head. He entered the codes for tea and hot chocolate into the replicator, and he watched as the cups filled. Behind him, Jim pulled a chair from the table. The legs scraped against the floor roughly, an unpleasant sound, and there was a faint click when Jim undoubtedly pressed the power button. He detected the dull sound of Jim's fingers tapping the screen.

"They're giving me the _Enterprise_!" he exclaimed. "Sulu's got his own command. They're leaving in December. I'm getting my own ship!"

Spock considered if he should offer congratulations when Jim took a sharp intake of breath.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he spat.

Spock turned quickly to see Jim staring at the PADD, flat on the table, his hands curled to fists and shaking. His face was red. He pulled his comm from his pocket. Spock remained still, clenching his teeth, and heard Gary's voice through the speaker.

"Hey, sexy."

"You want to explain to me why I have a transfer request from you," Jim asked, "from the _Enterprise_ to the fucking _Hypatia_?"

"I didn't want to say anything until I knew my application had been accepted."

"I just got wind that I've been given my own command. When the hell did you have time to apply for this?"

"Jim..."

"I can't believe you let me find out about this through official communications!"

"I was going to come by tonight, but you weren't home."

"Don't blame this on me," Jim snapped. "What about that stuff you said about serving on the same ship, and doing things right this time?"

"Look," Gary said. "We're grounded until February, and this came up. I wanted to throw in my hat, see what my options are."

"What happened to you being navigator on my ship?"

"This is a first officer's position. I thought you'd understand that."

"Always the opportunist," Jim spit.

"It's not like that," Gary said. "You know I've always wanted to be on the command track."

"Why didn't you apply to be _my_ XO?"

"Jim..."

"Tell me something—when you applied for the navigator's position on the _Enterprise_, was it because I was on board or because she's the flagship?"

The replicator completed filling the mugs, but Spock did not move. He held his breath.

"Listen," Gary said, and his tone was becoming heated. "I wanted to tell you about this face to face, but you were preoccupied with your Vulcan. It sucks you found out this way, but you know you'd do the same thing if you were in my position."

"No, I wouldn't," Jim shot back. "I wouldn't do the same thing. I would have at least talked with you about it first, before I made a decision that affects us both."

"This has nothing to do with my feelings for you."

"Do you even love me, or were you dating me for the celebrity?"

"You're an asshole," Gary said.

"You know what?" Jim shouted, and the veins in his neck were throbbing, the blood high in his cheeks. "Bones was right. I never should have agreed to take you back."

He shut his communicator and threw it across the room. It hit the wall, and the charge pack fell out of it. Spock stared at Jim with an open mouth as he rose and calmly picked up the pieces of his comm, reassembled them, and placed the device on the table.

"I don't think I can play chess tonight," he said quietly.

Spock nodded rapidly but could find no words.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, and his voice was unsteady. "I've got to go. I can't be here right now."

The tea had gone cold before Spock removed it from the replicator and disposed of it. He did not meditate, lying unsleeping in his bed. He listened for Jim to come home, but the bedroom door never opened. Close to midnight, McCoy arrived home. Spock could smell his cologne. He wondered if he should call Jim, if he should have gone after him. Eventually, his brain took over, and he fell asleep with his fingers brushing the photograph of his mother.

ooo ooo ooo

"I hate men," Jim said, raising his glass in salute, "and Gary's an ass."

"Gary _is_ an ass," Nyota agreed, clinking her glass against his. Jim drank the rest of the wine, and she poured him another glass. "But let's not hate on men in general just because of him."

"How come you wouldn't date me?" Jim slurred. "I'm a good guy."

"You are a good guy," she agreed, resting her face in her hand and settling into the couch. "But you're just not my type."

"Gorgeous?"

"Cocky," she said.

"I _am_ gorgeous."

"You are." She clinked her glass against his. "Your eyes are ridiculous."

"Best credits I ever spent."

"I can't believe you did that," she said, shaking her head. "But they did an amazing job."

"Cerulean," Jim said, winking. "Guy might still be in business. Want to take a roadtrip to Iowa?"

"Not tonight," she said. "I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open."

"I hope you know I'm commandeering your couch," Jim said.

"I'd hope so," she said. "Len's not coming here at this hour to pick you up, and there's no way I'm letting you out in public like this."

"Pour me another," he said and held out the glass. She emptied the remaining wine into it.

"That's the last bottle we're opening," she said. "I don't need a hangover in the morning."

"I want to still be drunk in the morning," Jim said, and he brushed at his eyes as they watered. "Fuck."

"Just think," she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "In a few months, we'll be back out there in space, and you'll be so busy with the _Enterprise_, you won't have time to think about him."

"And I'll be single," Jim said. "Think of all the intergalactic ass I can score."

"And the intergalactic diseases," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Better make sure you're up to date on your hypos."

"Speaking of single, when are you going to find someone?" he asked, looking at her through one eye.

"I've met a few someones," she said. "Speaking of, your roommate..."

"Bones?" Jim asked, cocking his head. "You know he's serious about Christine."

"Yes," Nyota said. "We're _all_ aware of that. I meant your other roommate."

"Spock?" Jim said, frowning.

"I know it's a long shot," Nyota said, "but I think he's sweet. I wondered if...I mean, you see him more than I do. I've tried asking him out a couple of times, but he always turns me down. I wondered if you knew if he was seeing anyone, or if you thought he might be interested."

"Spock?" Jim repeated, and he drank the rest in three swallows. He really, really didn't like the taste of wine but he loved the way it made him feel. He experienced a strange sensation as his mouth formed Spock's name, a sour ache in his stomach. He frowned at the idea of Spock and Nyota together. "I don't think he's seeing anyone, but I really don't think that's his thing. I thought he'd have a heart attack when I hugged him earlier."

"You _hugged_ him? Why?"

"Well, we'd gone up to Fort Bragg to see his aunt," Jim said. "And then we stopped in the forest on the way back down, because he looked like he was really into the trees. He's a scientist, so I thought he'd like that. And, I don't know. I just felt so bad for him, because of Vulcan being destroyed and his parents dying. He looked so fucking sad, I had to do something."

"You really like him," she said.

"Want to hear a secret?"

"Always."

"We were apparently best friends in another life."

"What?" she said, slapping his arm. "What the heck are you talking about?"

"I'm dead serious," Jim said. "Do you remember when Scotty and that old Vulcan beamed on board the _Enterprise_ while we were at warp?"

"Of course," she said, rubbing her cheek and averting her eyes. "Why?"

"That old Vulcan," Jim said. "The one who was calling himself Selek? His name's not Selek."

He grinned, and he knew it was stupidly wide.

"Oh, my god," she said. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Jim said. "He knew all about me, my name, my family. He was in Starfleet, where he came from, and I was his captain. He never went to the VSA. He was my first officer. We knew each other for, like, thirty years."

"So that's why you've been looking out for him?"

"Actually," Jim said, scratching his head. "I don't really think about them as the same person. I just think he's funny."

"You think a Vulcan is funny," she said flatly.

"He makes me laugh," Jim said, shrugging. "And he's a hell of a chess partner."

"Well, I think he's cute," Nyota confessed. "So if you ever see an opportunity..."

"I'll let him know you're interested," Jim said, "but I wouldn't hold your breath."

Nyota looked to her empty glass and the empty wine bottle on the table.

"_One_ more," she said, and Jim patted her on the shoulder

"That's my girl," he said.

"I'm not your girl," she reminded him.

No," he said, "but I love you anyway."

ooo ooo ooo

It had been seventy-three hours and eleven minutes since Jim left the apartment. Spock had attended his classes, read for five point three six hours, slept twice, consumed seven cups of tea, and replicated one bowl of popcorn. He had not messaged Jim. Jim would return home when it became necessary. Spock folded his hands in front of him at the kitchen table and stared at his comm.

It would not be impolite to inquire as to Jim's well being.

A human might deem it necessary.

Jim was human, after all. Spock would simply be inquiring after him in the way he would likely consider appropriate.

He picked up the comm, then set it down again.

His own behavior puzzled him. Jim's interpersonal relationships were not Spock's business or concern, and yet Spock felt compelled to determine that Jim was well. He steepled his fingers before him, touching them to his forehead.

Jim could be hurt. Jim could be sick. Jim was likely emotionally compromised. He had allowed Spock to live in this apartment for over a year with no mention of repayment; Spock supposed it was his duty to find him. McCoy had not seemed concerned that morning when they passed one another in the kitchen.

"About time," McCoy had mumbled. "That guy is nothing but bad news."

Spock inferred "that guy" to be Gary. There had been no mention of Jim's whereabouts. Undoubtedly, McCoy was aware of them.

It was intuition that brought Spock to Nyota's apartment. He knocked, standing back from the door with his arms clasped behind his back, and he waited for her to answer. He was not surprised when it was Jim who opened the door, looking at him through bloodshot eyes.

"Hey," he said, holding the door open wider, but Spock did not enter.

"You are well?" Spock asked, peering inside.

"I've been better," Jim admitted. "Nyota's at some linguistics meetup thing, if you were here to see her. She'll be thrilled that you stopped by."

"I came in search of you," Spock said, and he catalogued the unsteady flutter of his heart at Jim's half smile. "It has been over three standard days since you returned home."

"Missed me, huh?" Jim quipped. "Come on inside. We're letting bugs in."

Jim's t-shirt hung loosely on his frame. Spock wondered if he had changed clothing or bathed since he left the apartment. His hair was unkempt, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, as there had been when he woke in the hospital. He was barefoot, and he did not wear pants, just a pair of shorts Spock had seen him wear before in the kitchen.

"You have not slept," Spock observed when he viewed the multiple coffee cups on the table, and the vid screen which had been muted but displayed a monochrome picture.

"Yeah, well," Jim said, flopping onto the couch beside an empty wine bottle, "I'm not having a great week."

"Would you care to play chess?" Spock suggested, hoping this was an appropriate suggestion.

"Not tonight," Jim said.

"Perhaps we could engage in something physical."

"Physical?" Jim repeated, his eyes widening.

"We could walk."

Jim laughed. "I knew you weren't thinking the same thing I was," he said. He laughed and snorted.

"You have been consuming alcohol," Spock observed.

"No shit," Jim said, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"You are upset," Spock said. "It would be wise for you to return home with me."

"Why?" Jim said.

"Should you consume a toxic quantity of alcohol," Spock said, "there is no one here to alert a physician, while Dr. McCoy occupies the same residence as you." He did not mention that McCoy had not slept at the apartment since Jim left.

"Okay," Jim said after a pause. He stumbled as he stood up and glanced at the mess of bottles and cups. He gathered them up and walked them to the kitchen, depositing them in the sink. Spock folded a blanket Jim had balled up and laid it neatly across the back of the couch.

"Where is your clothing?" Spock asked.

"I—" Jim began. He looked at his bare legs as though bewildered "I don't know."

Spock did a quick survey of the room and found Jim's pants crumpled between the couch and the wall. He shook them out and handed them to Jim, who leaned against the wall and tugged them on.

"I should leave Nyota a note," Jim said as he fumbled for his shoes and reached out a hand to steady himself. Spock grit his teeth when Jim's fingers once again locked around his forearm, but he was humbled by what he felt—loss, heartache, worthlessness.

"I will message her," Spock said and helped Jim out the door. He leaned against Spock's side as they walked. Spock steeled himself against the feeling of discomfort and allowed Jim to hold his arm. It was cold. Jim shivered without a jacket, but Spock had not thought to bring one. Jim felt warm against his side, and he begrudgingly held tighter to him when the wind blew.

"You're a telepath, right?" Jim said. His feet made a shuffling sound on the pavement.

"I am," Spock confirmed, attempting to ignore Jim's erratic thoughts.

"Are you any good?"

"I am adept."

"Can't you just, I don't know, block my memories of him or something?"

"Yes."

"Will you?" Jim asked. Spock could sense Jim's sincerity but shook his head.

"No, Jim," Spock said quietly.

"Worth a shot. You know," Jim said, his chin grazing Spock's shoulder, "that might be the first time you've used my name."

It was a slow walk back to the apartment, and they both shook with cold by the time they reached the elevator, though Jim was half asleep where he stood drooling on Spock's shoulder. Spock let out a disgusted gasp, frowned, and led him to the door.

"Home sweet home," Jim drawled as they entered and he kicked off his shoes. He flung one, and it hit the wall. "Is Bones here?"

"He is with Christine," Spock answered, and Jim's face fell. Spock left Jim on the edge of the bed and ordered him to disrobe, then turned on the shower. He guided Jim in the bathroom, averting his eyes from Jim's body until he stood concealed behind the curtain.

"Bathe," he ordered.

When Jim emerged from the shower, he smelled better and had soap in his hair. Spock glanced at it and handed Jim a towel, directing him to the sink to brush his teeth, then to his bed.

"You require sleep," he said.

"You're bossy tonight." Jim grinned at him from beneath the covers. His face went slack. "I'm naked."

"I observed," Spock said dryly and was satisfied to watch Jim's eyes fall closed. Spock changed into clean robes, taking the soiled one to the washing machine along with Jim's towel and the clothes he had discarded on the bedroom floor. Spock began the wash cycle and sat down to a cup of tea. He composed a message to Nyota, then read for ninety-three minutes, oddly invigorated. When he slept, it was without interruption.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim fumbled with the door lock, pressing his thumb against it. The door wouldn't open. He cursed at it, kicking at the door, and held his thumb to the scanner again.

"What the fuck," he swore, and the last kick he gave the door hurt so much he hopped twice against the pain that shot through his foot. He went to knock, forming his hand into a fist, and it was an inch from the door when he caught the number: 3A. It was the wrong apartment. He was still a little drunk. He turned around, squinted at the door across the hallway, and this scanner recognized him. He tripped through the door and heard the sound of someone in the kitchen. Leaving his sunglasses on, he dropped his jacket on the floor, abandoned his shoes where he stepped. He leaned in the kitchen door and saw Bones sitting at the table.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bones barked at him.

"You're home," Jim said, yawning.

"This is _my_ apartment, if you remember," Bones said. "Where were you last night?"

"Out," Jim said.

"You've been out every night this week," Bones remarked. "And you haven't slept from the looks of you."

"It's called rebound, Bones," Jim said. "I'm _rebounding_."

"You look like hell," Bones said, and Jim shrugged. "Sit down and eat."

"I'm going to get my PADD," Jim said, grabbing it from the living room and falling ungraciously into the chair across from Bones. He pushed the power button and waited for his messages to load, scanning over the list of recent notifications from Admiral Nogura, a personal invitation from Admiral Pike, and one message he'd read too often. Bones scowled and slid a plate of pancakes across the table to Jim, whose head hung in his hands as he stared at it.

"Just approve the transfer," Bones said, "and put this behind you."

"He hasn't called," Jim said. "It's been a month."

"That's because he's stubborn like you." Bones set a fork next to Jim's elbow. "Eat."

"Pike wants us to come to some _thing_ at his apartment tonight," Jim said.

"I got the invite," Bones said, sitting down across from Jim with a cup of coffee. "Are you going?"

"I should," Jim replied, rubbing his forehead. "Do you think he'll be there?"

"Probably," Bones said. "He's going to be Sulu's XO, and Sulu told me he was invited."

"I still can't believe they're giving me my own ship," Jim said, and he felt a smile encroaching.

"Neither can the rest of us," Bones agreed, snatching the sunglasses from Jim's face.

"Hey!" Jim tried to kick him under the table, but his foot struck the table leg instead.

"Eat," Bones repeated, and Jim stuck out his tongue as he grabbed the fork and went to work dividing the pancakes into quarters.

"Maybe Spock will go with me," Jim mused, chewing. "Might make it suck less."

"If anyone can convince him," Bones said, "it'll be you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jim asked.

"Don't chew with your mouth full," Bones said. Jim rolled his eyes.

"He's cute," Jim said. "I like his ears. Think he'd sleep with me?"

"No," Bones said. "Not while you're acting like this."

"When are you going to clear me for transport?" Jim asked between bites. "I want to go up to the ship, check out the repairs so far."

"Consider yourself cleared," Bones said. "That'll be good for you. I was waiting for you to show interest."

"Olson messaged me earlier," Jim said. "He's considering a transfer to Sulu's ship, so I was thinking of promoting Mr. Scott to chief engineer. Thought I'd talk with him about it face-to-face. He's been living up there the last few weeks. Between the two of us, I think he might be the one who needs a psych eval."

"I'll file your paperwork today," Bones said, "and there's nothing in regulations against a strong work ethic."

"It's not his work ethic," Jim said. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "I think he's sexually attracted to the ship."

"_You're_ sexually attracted to the ship," Bones said. "You practically drool every time you say her name."

"That's my primary relationship from now on," Jim declared. "No more of this romance bullshit."

"Spoken like a true ex."

"I'm serious."

"Mmm," Bones said through a sip of coffee. "Oh, listen. I'm probably bringing Christine tonight, so we'll be leaving from her place."

"Probably?"

"I might have forgotten to mention it to her," he said. "Anyway, don't wait for me. I'll see you there."

"Okay," Jim said, touching the screen to watch it brighten. He stared at Gary's name.

"Just approve it," Bones told him, more softly this time. "You'll feel better the minute you do."

Bones went in to the clinic, and Jim remained at the kitchen table for a game of solitaire. Spock was in classes all morning, and Uhura had somehow gotten roped into teaching a course on introductory Gorn. The computer had him. He closed out the game—he'd never been good at cards, especially when he was drinking—and re-opened the transfer request.

He'd read it every morning for a month. He could recite it from rote.

To: Captain James. T. Kirk, USS _Enterprise_ Lieutenant Gary Mitchell requests a formal transfer from the USS _Enterprise_ to the USS _Hypatia_ effective immediately. Please approve or reject this transfer at your earliest convenience. Signed, Admiral Nogura

Maybe Bones was right. Maybe if he just approved the damned thing, he could stop moping in the kitchen. It wasn't like this was the hardest decision he would ever have to make as a captain. So the navigator wanted on another ship. Fine. There were plenty of navigators who would love to serve under him, like Chekov. Jim suspected he wasn't keen on the science officer's position. He'd ask Chekov about it tonight if he was at Pike's place.

Jim wrote back approving the transfer and went to the bedroom, falling face-first on the covers and passing out for a few hours. When he woke, even though his head ached dully, he pulled on his running shoes and a t-shirt and went for a run. He ran until his lungs burned and he wasn't thinking of Gary any longer.

ooo ooo ooo

Spock spent the day in classes, returning late afternoon after spending an hour in the library reading. Recently, Spock had found it difficult to study in Jim's company, because he spoke often and did not favor silence. With his legs folded, Spock attempted to meditate beside the window in the bedroom when Jim entered without knocking and sat loudly beside him on the floor.

"Hey," he said. Spock opened one eye and looked at him.

"Hello," he said.

"So, Pike's got this thing going on tonight," Jim said, pulling a knee up to his chest. "McCoy thinks I should go, but I really don't want to go alone. So I was thinking, if you're not doing anything, maybe you'd come with me."

"It will please you to know that I already plan on attending," Spock informed him. "Number One has promised to prepare a soup of which I am rather...fond," he admitted.

"She bribed you," Jim said with a grin. Spock gave up the pretense of being able to meditate further and folded his hands together, opening both eyes.

"I suppose," he said.

"What are you wearing?" Jim asked. Spock looked down at his chest and back to Jim, frowning. "To the party," Jim clarified.

"I had not yet considered it," Spock said.

"Well, I'm going to jump in the shower," Jim said, "and then I'm getting dressed, so consider it while I'm in there."

"Why is it necessary for you to know my clothing choice?" Spock asked.

"Cause you're practical," Jim said and rose, peeling off his t-shirt. Spock glanced away from his exposed skin and experienced a flush in his neck and ears. It was perhaps too warm in the room. He heard the water start and folded the blanket upon which he had been sitting.

While Jim showered, Spock selected dark slacks and a thick gray sweater, folding his robes and putting them in a drawer. He combed his hair and looked in the mirror. He had never paid much attention to his own appearance. He was attractive by human standards, he supposed. He was not, he considered, as attractive as Jim. Spock wondered if he would still consider Jim to be attractive were his eyes a different color.

Toweling dry his hair, Jim came out of the bathroom and reached in a drawer for a t-shirt. Spock raised an eyebrow, so Jim put on a blue button-down instead.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling the orange vial from the drawer Spock had failed to close. "Are you sick or something?"

"It is a sample," Spock said sharply. Jim put it back.

"Sorry. Do I meet your standards?" Jim asked and slapped Spock on the shoulder on his way out of the room.

They walked because the weather was fair. Spock liked early summer in California. It was breezy but warm enough that he did not require a thermal layer. Spock could feel the wind ruffle his hair and attempted to smooth it when they entered the building. Number One opened the door with a beer in one hand and a platter of bacon-wrapped something in the other. Spock grimaced when he saw it and hoped she had upheld her promise of soup.

"Gentlemen," she greeted them, closing the door with her hip. "Chris is in the den. You can leave your coats on my bed."

The apartment buzzed with conversation. Spock recognized several members of Jim's crew. Most had come by the apartment or met them out for dinner at one point. Nyota was conversing with an animated human male and a Roylan. Nyota caught his eyes and waved.

"I'm gonna go talk to Pike for a few minutes," Jim said, clasping his arm. "Are you okay by yourself?"

"I recall it was you who experienced concern about attending alone," Spock reminded him and walked to Nyota's side.

"Spock! I didn't know you'd be here," she exclaimed, leaning forward as though she might embrace him. He held up a hand in greeting, and she blinked. "This is Montgomery Scott," she said, "and Keenser. Monty is an engineer on the _Enterprise_. Monty, this is Spock. He's—"

"I know who this is!" he exclaimed, slapping Spock on the shoulder in the manner Jim often did. Spock bristled. "It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Spock. I understand you're something of a chess prodigy."

"I regularly beat Jim," Spock replied.

"I bet you do. You can call me Scotty, by the way. Everyone does, apart from this lovely lass."

From the den, he heard the bray of Jim's laughter. Behind him was another familiar voice, loud and instantly recognizable. Spock turned to look over his shoulder. Gary was sitting on the arm of a sofa, speaking with a young female. The sight of him caused Spock to shiver, and he considered going to find Jim. Nyota caught him staring and looked in the same direction when Jim reappeared with Pike and they went into the kitchen. Gary's eyes were locked on Jim's back, and he went into the kitchen without another word to the woman.

"Well, this should be fun," Nyota muttered. Spock took a step in the direction of the kitchen, but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him. "He needs to do this," she said, "and Pike's with him."

Nyota resumed her conversation with Scotty, but Spock did not listen to them. He heard Jim's laughter and Gary's raised voice. Pike said something Spock could not make out, and then Jim laughed again, though there was a harshness to it. Spock angled his body so he could see into the kitchen, where Jim stood pointing a finger at Gary, who had his back to Spock. Pike stood between them both, hands raised to separate them. Jim smiled broadly and shook his head, taking a drink from a glass he held. Gary had one hand on the counter and the other on his waist. His head was bowed. Gary spoke again, sharp but indiscernible. Jim's eyes jerked up to where Spock stood, holding his gaze for a moment, before he glared at Gary. He spoke loudly enough that Spock could just make out the words.

"You leave him out of this."

Spock was relieved when Gary retrieved his coat, leaving without a glance in Spock's direction. Jim's laugh returned to a normal volume, and he settled on the couch where Gary had been sitting, flirting with the same female. Spock felt a strange twinge in his abdomen at the sight of them. He desired to speak with Number One, but she was engaged in conversation. The kitchen had emptied. Spock informed Nyota that he required a beverage and left her with Scotty, who gave no indication that he would tire of her company. She did not respond as Spock slipped away.

Spock helped himself to a glass of the fruit punch Number One had set out. It contained alcohol, he surmised, but as he was half Vulcan, he knew the alcohol was unlikely to affect him. It was sweet tasting. He wondered too late if it contained processed sugar and had already begun to feel its effects when McCoy approached. The doctor cleared his throat and leaned across the counter beside Spock, looking to Jim, who was attracting attention in the next room. He had his arm around the female.

"Enjoying the party?" McCoy asked.

"No," Spock said and took another sip. His head spun faintly, and he could not look away from the blue of Jim's shirt. "I wish to return home."

"So go," McCoy said. "You don't have to wait for him."

What McCoy said was logical. Spock had not considered leaving on his own. Jim had asked Spock to accompany him. He watched as Jim placed his hand on the woman's back and slowly rubbed a circle into it. Spock felt suddenly nauseated. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Spock became cognizant of McCoy's eyes on him.

"You look a little flushed," McCoy remarked.

"It is the sugar," Spock said. "It has an intoxicating effect on my species. I had not anticipated the amount in this punch."

"I'm glad you finally kicked back," McCoy said. "You're wound tighter than my ex wife."

"I did not realize you had been married."

"You never asked." McCoy poured himself another drink and clinked his glass against Spock's. "To your health," he said. Spock eyed him suspiciously.

"You are being ironic," he said after a pause.

"What gave you that impression?" McCoy drawled. In the next room, Jim laughed, and they both returned their eyes to his direction, watching as he leaned to speak into the woman's ear. She exposed her neck and nudged his side.

"Jim appears to be enamored with that female," Spock said.

"Does that bother you?"

"No," Spock said, aware his tone had become petulant.

"Don't feel bad about it. Everyone's a little in love with Jim," McCoy remarked. "Even Jim."

"That is illogical," Spock said.

"Look, Gary did a number on his head," McCoy continued, "but he'll come around eventually. Give him some time."

Spock frowned and turned to him. "I do not understand your meaning."

"You'll figure it out," McCoy said. "Just be patient."

He left Spock standing alone in the kitchen. Spock left the party thirty-five minutes later. Jim, who had not spoken to him since they arrived, was intoxicated and draped over the female. Spock was disgusted and did not inform Jim that he was leaving. He took his leave of Nyota, thanked Admiral Pike and Number One for their hospitality (she sent him home with a container of soup for lunch the next day), and hailed a cab.

ooo ooo ooo

It was close to midnight when Jim began to yawn. He looked around the room for Spock but didn't see him. The girl—what was her name, Rachel? Rebecca?—was hanging off of his arm, and he was so dizzy from the punch and the shots Scotty had given him that he leaned on her, glad for the support. Spock wasn't in the living room. Jim leaned backwards, so he could see into the kitchen where he knew Spock had been at one point. He'd seen him by the punch bowl. He wasn't there either, but Jim laughed momentarily at the parallel of punch bowls and bowl cuts.

Regina—that was it—placed a hand on his leg and squeezed. Her thumb wasn't far from his dick. She'd probably leave with him if he asked. That's what Spock must have done. He must have gone home. He probably got bored. Jim felt bad that he'd told him to come but ignored him all night, but Spock had said he was coming anyway. Jim wasn't a Vulcan babysitter or anything. He pulled out his comm, thinking maybe Spock had sent him a message, but there were no notifications on the screen. Maybe he'd tried to say goodbye but couldn't find Jim. That was probably it.

He'd been prepared to see Gary. He planned on addressing him professionally, saying, "Congratulations on your transfer, Lieutenant." What he hadn't planned on was confronting Gary in the kitchen, accusing him of being a traitor, and getting really fucking drunk afterwards. He was embarrassed to be swaying on his feet in Admiral Pike's apartment. He should have stayed home.

The girl—what was her name again?—smiled at him and licked her lips. They were wet and pink, and he suddenly wanted to bite them.

"My apartment's only a couple blocks away," she said into his ear. "Want to get out of here?"

She led him out by the hand, and he watched her ass sway in her dark-washed jeans.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim stumbled into the bedroom at four in the morning, bumping loudly against the door and cursing as he groped for the bed. Spock watched him through one open eye. Jim reeked of perfume and his shirt was untucked. Spock held his breath and was unable to sleep, turning his face away.

ooo ooo ooo

In early August, Spock took up teaching a geology lab twice a week. When he found out that Spock spent his lunch breaks alone in his office reading, Jim began to stop by with vegetable sushi whenever he was near campus. He'd linger in Spock's office, pick up rock samples from the shelf and turn them over in his hands. He'd chatter while Spock ate, feeling giddy when Spock thanked him and ducked his head as they parted. On Tuesdays, Spock kept office hours, so Jim would drop off food, squeeze Spock's shoulder affectionately (he was starting to like doing that way too much), and leave. But it became an unspoken agreement that on Thursdays at 1:15pm, Jim would arrive with a bag of takeout for both of them. He found himself looking forward to their lunch dates, as Bones had taken to calling them. Jim would call in their food order, pick it up on the walk to campus, and stand in the doorway to Spock's classroom until Spock noticed him.

Even though the weather was beginning to cool, they ate out on the campus lawn. It was eight weeks into the semester, and Jim sprawled lazily in the grass. Spock sat politely with his legs folded beneath him. He ate with chopsticks. Jim ate with his fingers and wiped them on his jeans.

"That is unsanitary," Spock pointed out. Jim rolled his eyes and smiled up at him.

"I'll do laundry when I get home," he said, swatting Spock's knee. He let his hand linger against the fabric. "Have you thought any more about my offer?"

"I have."

"And?"

"I still have no desire to serve on a starship," Spock said. Jim deflated a little.

"But you'd be chief science officer," he pleaded. "How awesome would that be? We'd get to explore the whole galaxy, and we wouldn't have to give up our chess games."

"I am flattered you find me a worthy opponent," Spock said. "However, if you recall, we played successfully without being in each other's presence for a year."

"I know," Jim said, disappointed. He lay back on the grass with his arms behind his head and yawned. It would be lonely returning to space, even though he'd have Bones and Nyota with him. A part of him had no wish to leave Spock behind. He'd become a necessary part of Jim's every day, and Jim didn't want to think about how his life would change when Spock was no longer in it. They'd message, and maybe sometimes they'd talk via vid, but it wouldn't be the same as sitting together beneath a tree where Jim could see and touch him.

He shouldn't think about that. Spock was here with him now. The sun was warm. The wind blew and stirred the tree overhead. He wished he'd remembered his sunglasses but had forgotten them in the apartment. He closed his eyes against the light as it filtered through the leaves, remembering something from that morning. "Oh, hey, your aunt called. She says hi."

"Why did she call you?" Spock asked.

"She was checking up on you," Jim said. "She said you haven't messaged her in a while. Plus I think she likes me."

"You do possess a certain charisma."

Spock's words made him grin. Jim brushed at his ear where the grass tickled it and ignored the flutter in his stomach. "So if I want to see you after you graduate, I guess I'll have to come visit you on a planet somewhere."

"Surely you will find another chess partner on board your ship."

"I'd visit you for more than just chess," Jim said with a frown. He touched Spock's knee again for emphasis.

Spock didn't answer, so Jim pushed up on an elbow and looked at him. Spock's mouth was still. Jim concentrated on it, the way it parted slightly as he waited for Jim to continue. Jim didn't know how to put what he was feeling into words, a funny mix of jealousy and irritation: jealousy that Spock could so easily replace Jim, and irritation that it bothered him at all.

"You're my friend," Jim said softly, looking Spock in the eye. "I'm going to _miss_ you."

The expression Spock wore was part confusion, part disbelief. Jim couldn't tell if he was pissed off by Jim's words or not, so he changed the subject.

"You know, Nyota was telling me about a concert in Golden Gate Park. Classical music. I think she wants to go."

"It would be a welcome change from her preferred musical entertainment," Spock said.

"You should go with her," Jim suggested, though he hated the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth. He imagined Nyota sitting here instead of him, Nyota's hand on Spock's leg, and shook the thought away. "I bet she'd like that."

"I believe Nyota desires a romantic relationship with me," Spock confessed, picking a leaf from his pants.

"So?" Jim asked, tensing. Spock was slow to answer.

"I do not share her desire," he said finally.

"Oh." Jim was a little ashamed at the relief that flowed through him. He was quiet for a minute. "Well, then just come with me. We'll go for a while, maybe grab something to eat on the way back."

"That would be satisfactory," Spock agreed, and Jim's smile returned.

"Are you coming home first?" he asked. "Or should I pick you up here?"

"What time is the concert?"

"Uh," Jim said. "Nineteen hundred, I think."

"I will meet you at the apartment," Spock told him.

"Yeah, you probably don't want to go in uniform, but I've gotta tell you—black's your color. Looks a lot better than the red did."

Spock looked down at his lap and took up another piece of sushi. Jim noted that the tips of his ears were green.

"One day, you'll learn how to take a compliment," Jim said, swatting his leg again and laughing when Spock didn't flinch.

ooo ooo ooo

The band was situated in an open-air theater. Large speakers projected the music out of the lawn, where families and couples lay on blankets. Spock observed several pairs holding hands. Some sat leaning against one another. Jim selected a spot beside a tree and zipped his jacket.

"The sun'll set soon, and this will be easier to find in the dark," he said, "in case one of us has to pee or something."

Spock blinked at him and spread the blanket he carried along the ground, settling onto it. The concert started promptly. Jim ate the bag of cookies he'd brought along with him, offering the last one to Spock through a full mouth.

"You sure?" he said. "They're chocolate chip."

Spock considered informing Jim of the effects chocolate and sugar had on Vulcans, but he suspected Jim might one day use that information to his advantage. He merely declined with a shake of his head and concentrated on the music. Jim finished eating, brushed the crumbs from his shirt, and stretched out on the ground beside Spock, crossing his ankles. He hummed along for two songs, but he soon fell quiet and his breathing evened.

There were crumbs and two lone chocolate chips remaining in the bag between them. Spock had never tasted chocolate before, though he had often watched his mother consume it. He allowed one to melt on his tongue, a dark rich flavor. It was not nearly enough to intoxicate him, but he experienced a warmth in his fingers after five minutes. He ate the other as well and tucked the bag into his pocket.

Several feet away, Spock witnessed a man kiss someone on the lips and he wondered, distantly, what that would feel like. If he had accompanied Nyota tonight, would she have attempted to touch him in this manner? Yes, he supposed. He had never kissed with his mouth. His mother had kissed him, but he had been the recipient. He had never initiated such an interaction. He remembered his elder self's memories, the phantom taste of another Jim on his mouth, and felt a stab of something low in his abdomen against the stutter of his heart.

He must not think of this. Spock attempted to focus on the music. It was a melancholy song, almost mournful. He recognized the song as Tchaikovsky, and the warmth in his fingers increased.

When Spock glanced at him, Jim's eyes were closed. His right hand rested on his chest, his left on the ground mere inches from Spock's leg. He wore a faint smile on his lips. The white hot sensation curled in Spock's stomach, and he finally recognized the emotion he experienced for what it was. For the first time, he did not attempt to block it. Fascinated, safe in the darkness where no one could observe him, he allowed it to roll over him.

He desired Jim. He allowed himself to think it, to accept it as truth. How long had this been building? Spock recalled the catalog of physical reactions he had experienced in Jim's presence, the foreign look Nyota had given him every time he refused an invitation to accompany her to dinner, the words McCoy had spoken to him.

_Everyone's a little in love with Jim. _

Love. It was not an emotion he had ever understood. He supposed he felt love for his mother. She had expressed it for him often. He had never spoken of it in return. He had cared for I-Chaya, but as they were not intellectual equivalents, he wondered if that could be termed love or merely affection.

His breathing became unsteady, and Spock could feel his controls slipping. He dug his hands into the blanket and gripped it tightly, feeling the threads tear between his fingers. What was the harm in it? Why must he control this? Why did he not wish happiness for himself? His home was gone, Vulcan was gone, but Earth still remained for him. Would he deny himself this?

Once, Spock had felt a compatibility between them, before Jim left for his mission, when their hands had connected around the communicator. Had it been real? He did think of Jim as his friend. The word flooded him with shame, but he repeated it to himself. _Friend_.

Jim called them friends often. It was not wrong.

He clasped his own hands together, aware his touch telepathy was heightened by the chemicals in his blood. His fingertips pulsed. He steepled them against each other and pressed, but the pressure did not relieve the desire to feel Jim's mind. Jim was asleep. He would not know if Spock touched him, just once, just to determine whether the spark between them he had felt the first time their hands connected would repeat itself now. If the spark was there, Spock would have his answer. If not, Jim was asleep, and it would not matter. It would be the fault of the chocolate, and Spock would never think of it again.

Hesitantly, he slid his hand beside Jim's on the blanket, so the edge of his little finger just touched the edge of Jim's. He took a sharp inhale at the heat that rose within him, the sensation of lust—for that is what the white hot light had been, he realized, _lust_—that overpowered him. He should remove his hand, but did not wish to. Yes, it was there, the primal urge to grab ahold of this mind and join it to his own. Spock greedily soaked in Jim's superficial thoughts: calm, satisfaction, surprise—

Jim was staring at him when he dared to look up, and Spock could not move, frozen in the fear of having been discovered. Jim's eyes were wide, a slight crease visible between his eyebrows, but his face softened the longer he looked at Spock. He gave a lazy closed-mouth smile. Spock felt his own mouth curve upwards as he looked back at Jim, felt the surprise morph into affection. Jim crossed his pinky over Spock's, and he closed his eyes again.

Spock regarded their joined hands for forty-seven minutes, until the music ended and they began the walk home. The chocolate's effect had waned; his head was again clear, but his control had not returned. Jim held the blanket in his arms, balled up against his chest. Spock wondered if Jim would touch his hand again, if Jim had felt what Spock had, if he understood what it meant. Spock found, despite how the idea had been anathema to him his entire life, that he craved Jim's touch. Now that their skin was not in contact, he could not read Jim's thoughts, and he felt a burning desire to be connected to him again. He had often witnessed his parents touch fingertips as a child; he understood now why they had done this.

"You okay?" Jim asked him as they walked slowly along with the crowd of people exiting the park. People bumped up against Spock's side, but he took no notice.

"I am fine," Spock said.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Jim pointed out. "Do you still want to grab dinner?"

"I would," Spock agreed. They ate in a small diner a block from the apartment. Jim sipped a chocolate milkshake and chewed on the inside of his cheek. The action offset and twisted his mouth. Spock ate a portabella sandwich out of necessity—he had not eaten since breakfast. Jim was uncharacteristically subdued. He kept his eyes on the table, on the picture over Spock's shoulder, to the row of people seated at the counter. He did not look at Spock. Spock feared he had misread him, that he had been upset by Spock's display of affection. The doubt clung like fog. Spock was ashamed. He would not be able to live with Jim after tonight.

He was drawn back to the present by the noisy slurping sound of Jim draining the last of his milkshake.

"That was a good concert, huh?" Jim said finally.

"It was." Spock watched for a change in Jim's expression, but Jim remained carefully neutral.

"I think you're great," Jim said, wiping his mouth. He set down the napkin and looked at Spock for the first time since they ordered. "You know that, right?"

Spock indicated he did with a bob of his head. Jim pursed his lips and let out a sigh.

"What you did back there, the way you touched my hand..." Jim blushed and frowned. "That's like kissing where you're from, right? Or am I reading your signals all wrong?"

Spock felt his cheeks and ears grow hot as if they burned. He turned his head toward the window, attempting to conceal it. He closed his eyes.

"Look at me," Jim said. He reached across the table and touched Spock's arm, rubbing a small circle with his thumb. "Spock, look at me."

Reluctantly, Spock opened his eyes and cast them on Jim's hand, the way it rested on his sleeve. He raised them to where Jim looked at him.

"I want you to feel something," Jim said. He brushed his fingers lightly across the inside of Spock's wrist, on his bare skin, and Spock sensed his consent. He swallowed thickly, and Jim withdrew, sitting back across from him. His face slowly spread into a grin. "Okay?" he said.

"Yes," Spock agreed.

"Let's go home," Jim said and signaled for the bill.

They did not touch again until they were inside the apartment, and Jim had checked to make sure McCoy was not home. He walked over to the couch in the dark and sat down, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto the floor. Spock did not pick it up but sat beside him and placed his hands on his lap. He clasped them together tightly, almost painfully, and Jim lay a hand over his. Spock tensed.

"It's okay," Jim murmured. "We don't have to do anything."

He leaned into Spock's side, lowering his head so it rested against Spock's shoulder. Jim projected adoration as he resumed tracing patterns on his skin. His breath was warm as he exhaled, and Spock detected a faint apple scent in his hair. He closed his eyes. In that moment, he was neither human nor Vulcan.

ooo ooo ooo

When Jim woke alone in his bed, he wondered if the whole night had been a dream and rubbed his eyes, sitting up to find Spock staring at him from his mattress on the floor. The bedside clock read three in the morning.

"What happened?" he asked. "Did I fall asleep on you?"

"Yes," Spock said. "I carried you to bed."

"You could've slept up here with me," Jim said.

"I was uncertain if you would wish it," Spock said quietly. Jim slid over and patted the spot beside him. Spock hesitated, but he rose and sat on the edge gingerly. "I have never shared a bed," he confessed.

"I haven't done it often, but it's kind of nice," Jim said. Spock raised an eyebrow. Even in the dark, Jim could see it. "It wasn't...it wasn't really his thing," he explained. Jim tried not to think of Gary's name, how Gary had always made an excuse to leave after sex or convince Jim to return to his own bed. Jim could count the number of times they'd fallen asleep together on two hands. He'd only stayed over in Jim's cabin on board the _Enterprise_ twice, and both times had been by accident. Jim laughed. "I've actually slept with you more than I've slept with anyone. Well, in the same room."

"I do not know how my telepathy will be affected by your proximity," Spock admitted.

"There's plenty of room," Jim said. "I swear, I'll stay on my half. I won't touch you. We can put pillows between us, if you want."

Spock shook his head. "That is unnecessary," he said.

The far side of the bed was cool. Jim bunched a pillow between his neck and shoulder, and he felt the bed dip as Spock slid beneath the covers beside him. He lay on his back with his arms at his sides. Jim smiled and yawned again, feeling the tug of sleep on his eyelids.

"Night." He whispered it and was surprised to feel Spock's fingers against his. It was so simple, almost innocent, like a first crush in grade school.

What was happening? When had they turned in this direction? Hadn't Spock told him, just earlier today, that he wasn't interested in a romantic relationship, or had he meant just not with Nyota? And what about Jim's conviction that he wasn't ever getting in a relationship again? He'd be leaving on his ship soon. Spock was staying on Earth. What were they doing? Spock had become a good friend. Were they messing that up? Would this be like the time Jim got fall-down drunk and tried to hit on Bones? Maybe they'd laugh about it one day. Maybe they wouldn't. Maybe this would freak Spock out so badly he'd run off to the colony after all.

The thoughts abated, and Jim yawned again as his mind cleared. He found himself relaxed and ready for sleep, lulled by the gentle stroke of Spock's thumb over his pulse. A whisper floated to him as he went under.

"Goodnight, Jim."

ooo ooo ooo

"Well, don't you two look cozy."

Jim jerked awake, squeezing his eyes tightly against the light that filled the room as he heard his curtains dragged open. He stretched his neck and reached out a hand blindly for his comm, but it landed on another body. His eyes snapped open, and he saw Spock, still asleep, the fringe of his bangs uneven. Bones cleared his throat.

"Morning, Bones," Jim greeted him, sitting up and yawning. Bones stood next to the nightstand holding a mug of coffee and looking from Jim to Spock with a curious expression.

"Do I want to know?" he asked.

"That air mattress is terrible," Jim answered.

"He finally had enough of it, huh?"

"I guess so." Jim scratched his ear and tried to will away the blush spreading up his neck.

"Hmm," Bones said. "Well, consider this a friendly reminder that you have a meeting with Nogura this morning. There are blueberry pancakes in the kitchen."

"Cool," Jim said. "Give me a minute."

When the bedroom door clicked shut, Spock's eyes opened, and he regarded Jim across the pillows.

"Hey," Jim whispered. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes," Spock said.

"I told you this mattress was better." He smiled, but Spock's expression was unreadable.

"It is comfortable." Spock's voice was gravelly with sleep. Tentatively, Jim reached out a hand and straightened the line of his bangs. Spock's eyebrows furrowed, but he didn't pull away.

"Bones made breakfast," Jim said, "if you want some."

"I will join you," Spock said. He pushed up on an elbow. His eyes were puffy. There were pillowcase marks on his cheek. Had anyone else ever seen Spock like this, groggy and sleep-tousled? Jim buried his face in his arm to hide the grin.

"What are you doing today?" Jim asked after a minute.

"I have class this morning." Spock cleared his throat.

"Bones reminded me that I've got a meeting at headquarters at 0800," Jim said. "Want me to give you a ride?"

Spock shook his head. "My class does not begin until 1030 hours, but perhaps we could meet for lunch?"

"I have no idea how long this will take," Jim admitted. "I might have to go up to the ship for a few hours, actually. Dinner tonight?"

"Yes."

"It's a date," Jim said. "I've got to eat and grab a shower." He kissed Spock's cheek before he could think better of it and climbed off the bed. He padded into the kitchen in his boxers and stretched as he took a plate from the cabinet, spearing three pancakes from the stack. He poured syrup liberally and fell into a kitchen chair.

"No chocolate chips?" he asked.

"No, out of deference for your Vulcan," Bones said with a raised eyebrow over his PADD.

"Huh?" Jim asked, shoving more than was polite into his mouth and chewing loudly.

"Chocolate is an intoxicant," Bones said with a roll of his eyes. "And here I thought you were the king of getting into someone's pants."

"I've never been in his pants," Jim said. "Yet," he qualified.

"Well, I can't say I haven't seen this coming," Bones said. "You haven't stopped talking about him since you met, and he's been mooning over you for months."

"Seriously?"

"He was in your hospital room with Uhura every day during your coma," Bones said.

"Not after I woke up, though."

"That's because your boyfriend scared him off." Bones sat back and crossed his arms.

"That reminds me—Nyota's gonna kill me," Jim said.

"Why?"

"She likes him," he said. "She's told me that."

"She's an adult," Bones said. "She'll understand."

"I'll have to tell her," Jim said. "I don't want her finding out from anyone else."

"Well, considering your relationship is less than twelve hours old," Bones quipped, "I don't think there's much risk of that right now."

"True," Jim said, standing up to pour himself a cup of coffee. "I don't know how I missed the thing about chocolate. I probably looked like an asshole trying to give him those cookies last night." He scrubbed at his left eye with a fist and sat back down, blowing on the coffee before taking a sip.

"More like an ignorant human," Bones said. "If he didn't accuse you of trying to seduce him, he either didn't think that or didn't mind. How did it happen? And don't give me too much detail."

"He touched my hand," Jim said quickly. "I wasn't...I mean, maybe that's just something they do on their planet, you know? I wasn't sure what he meant by it until later."

"A Vulcan holds your hand, and you're not sure what that means?" Bones repeated. "Did you miss the mandatory cultural sensitivity classes the past three years?"

"Okay, when you say it that way, it sounds obvious," Jim admitted. "But I swear to god, I was confused at the time." He raked both hands through his hair. "Is this stupid? This is stupid, right? I mean, we're leaving in a few months. It's not like he'll be coming with us. It can't _go_ anywhere."

"You're overthinking this," Bones said.

"I know."

"Of all the bad choices you've made, and you've made some, he's the least offensive."

"Thanks," Jim said, frowning. He picked up his fork again and stabbed a pancake.

"I want you to come into the clinic," Bones said. "We need to make sure you're both up to date on your shots."

"Wasn't I just in last week for a checkup?" Jim said.

"Last week, you weren't having interspecies sex."

"He's only _half _Vulcan," Jim defended, "and I'm pretty sure he doesn't sleep around."

"All the more reason for _you_ to be disease free," Bones said. "Unless you already—"

"No," Jim said quickly. "We just slept."

Bones's eyes widened. "I wonder if maturity is a side effect of superblood."

"Funny," Jim said.

"The guy was three hundred years old."

"Do you think there's a chance I'll live longer?" Jim asked. "Or gain any of his strength?"

"Only time will tell," Bones said, "but I doubt the effects will be permanent unless his blood somehow affects your DNA in a way that can be replicated."

"It's too early in the day for science," Jim said as Spock entered the kitchen. He'd put on his light black robes and had combed his hair. His face looked freshly scrubbed, eyes more alert. He glanced to the empty seat beside Jim and the seat beside Bones. "Here," Jim said, sliding over so he occupied the chair alongside the wall. "Sit down." Spock did, and Jim felt a grin overtake his face.

"I was just telling Jim that I'd recommend a full medical workup for both of you before you get any further into this," Bones said to Spock as he doled out a stack of pancakes and placed it in front of him.

"Bones!" Jim cried, smacking his arm.

"What Dr. McCoy says is logical," Spock said, taking up his fork. "I will consent to an examination."

"Well, there goes the romance," Jim muttered as Spock ate his pancakes without syrup.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim spent the morning at Starfleet headquarters speaking with Admiral Nogura about the list of repairs still waiting to be made on the _Enterprise_ (and a fair bit about his mother, which was...interesting). Then, as he'd suspected, he took a transport up to the space dock to oversee several of the engineering tweaks personally.

It was strange to walk on the ship when she was moored. The sensation was different even from how it felt while in orbit. The rumbling of her engines was absent, the decks too still. Jim could close his eyes and hear movement on the floor above and below, even movement inside cabins as he passed a section of the ship that housed most of the security staff. The turbolift was overly loud, and he was aware of every step that echoed from his boots. He ran a hand along the wall as he walked, relearning her.

"You and me, baby," he whispered. "Just four more months."

He was surprised to find Nyota on board, more surprised to find her in the hallway outside of engineering, most surprised to find Montgomery Scott's hands on her waist. He recognized her from the ponytail. Neither heard him approaching.

"Afternoon," he called while he was still a fair distance. As he suspected, they broke apart quickly and attempted to feign nonchalance.

"Captain!" Nyota said, her smile bright. Scotty nodded at him. She covered her mouth. "Mr. Scott and I were just—"

"I don't want to know," Jim cut her off, grinning. "Actually, this makes what I have to say to you a lot easier."

Her face fell. "You're not transferring me, are you?"

"It's personal. Can we—" Jim said, motioning to a bend in the corridor, "talk in private?"

"I left Keenser alone with my favorite wrench," Scotty spoke up. "I'd better go check on him. I'll see you in a minute, Captain." He winked at Jim and left them alone in the corridor.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Nothing's wrong," Jim said. "I just don't want you to be pissed."

"I can't promise what my reaction will be to something you haven't told me," she reminded him.

He took a deep breath. "I think I figured out why Spock kept turning you down." She narrowed her eyes, but then her face morphed into a sly expression.

"Oh," she said. "Well, actually, that makes a lot of sense in retrospect."

"It does?"

"I wondered why he spent every day in your hospital room when your own boyfriend couldn't be bothered."

It was Jim's turn to frown. "What are you talking about?"

"Gary," Nyota said quietly. "He didn't visit until the day you woke up. I didn't want to say anything when you two were together."

"God," Jim said, leaning his back against the wall. "Bones told me you and Spock were in there every day, I just assumed..."

"You should never assume," she reminded him.

"I know," he said. "That's _my_ line." He ran a hand through his hair. "God, I feel like an idiot."

"Don't blame yourself," she said, leaning next to him. "It was hard to see you like that."

"He didn't tell me."

"He probably didn't want you to know."

Jim mulled that over.

"So," she said, brightening. "You and Spock. How did you manage that?"

"He kissed me," Jim confessed.

"James Kirk, I'm impressed," she laughed. "You got through academy in three years, cheated death, and charmed a Vulcan. There should probably be a medal for that."

He laughed, and she placed a hand on his arm.

"Listen," she said. "Don't rush into this if you aren't finished with Gary yet. It's not fair to either of you. I've come to consider Spock a good friend, and I don't want him getting hurt. I don't want to see you hurt again, either. I can't take another hangover like that."

"Says the woman dating a man with an illegal still somewhere in my engineering deck."

"That's true," she confirmed, "but I don't touch anything that comes from it."

"That's wise," Jim said. "I'm pretty sure it can blind you."

"Let's all go to dinner sometime," she suggested. "The four of us. The next time Monty's back on Earth."

"Are you staying up here with him?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," she said, "and I believe you have a meeting with your new chief engineer which started—" She glanced at her watch. "—three minutes ago, Captain."

"Well, I don't want to be any later," he said. He touched her shoulder. "Thanks."

"I've got to go mess with the wiring on my console. I don't trust the guy they sent to oversee it. I'll see you back on Earth, Captain," she said and started for the turbolift.

ooo ooo ooo

It was well past their standard meal time when Jim arrived at the apartment. Spock was seated on the couch and looked up expectantly when he entered, laying down his PADD. His fingers itched, but Jim did not reach out toward him, so he did not reach for Jim. He took a deep breath and focused on the alignment of his spine.

"Sorry," Jim said, coming forward into the room, peeling off his gold command tunic and dropping it next to the laundry closet. His undershirt was black, and Spock noted how it hugged and accentuated his musculature. "Scotty had me up Jeffries tubes all afternoon and I lost track of the time. I need a shower."

Spock sniffed the air. "Yes," he said, and Jim laughed.

"I don't suppose you want to join me," Jim said. Spock's lower abdomen twinged, and there was a sudden tightening of his genitals as his brain conjured the wet slide of Jim's skin against his own. He clenched his jaw. He was not meditating thoroughly. The mention of a shower should not cause such a physical reaction without his desiring it. It had been different the night before, in the dark, with Jim asleep and no one to witness the slip in his controls. He had not slept much, attempting to meditate, attempting to answer questions. Had his father been plagued this way? Was this not in violation of everything Spock believed? Was he no longer in control of his emotions? Spock was Vulcan, and yet he found he enjoyed what Jim stirred within his human half. Yes, he enjoyed it. He hung his head.

"I'll take that as a no," Jim continued. "Give me a few minutes and then we can go to dinner."

Spock nodded and took up his PADD again, but he could not focus on the words. He switched it off and placed his hands on his knees, steadied his breathing. He wished he could speak with his father. Sarek was the only Vulcan to have bonded with a human. _Bonded_. Spock mentally tripped over the concept. He felt for the place in his mind he had carefully concealed, allowing himself to wonder, only for a moment, what it would be like to feel Jim in his mind as he had his parents and T'Pring. He wondered how his father had approached the topic with his mother, if they had bonded early in their courtship and allowed it to grow and strengthen as their association did. He would never be able to ask them.

The shower switched on in the bathroom, and Spock's thoughts shifted to his elder self. In his reality, Vulcan had not been destroyed. Indeed, Sarek had achieved two hundred and three years of age. Spock had learned this from their meld. Perhaps...perhaps he would contact him.

Jim emerged smelling of apples, in jeans and a dark shirt, and he leaned over and pressed his mouth against Spock's cheek as he sat beside him. Spock did not wipe it away.

"What do you feel like eating?" Jim asked as their legs came into contact. Spock was aware of Jim's body heat, heightened from the shower, through his pants.

"I have no preference," Spock said.

"Well, we can go out," Jim said, "or we can order takeout, or we can enjoy yet another replicated delicacy. Your choice."

In the end, Spock decided on Japanese takeout, which they ate on the floor because Jim said it would taste better, though Spock detected no difference in flavor or texture from their last order, which they had consumed in the kitchen. Jim reached a hand to Spock's mouth and wiped away sauce that clung there. Spock stilled at the intimate action as Jim guided his thumb along Spock's lower lip.

"You're cute when you blush," Jim told him.

They stayed on the floor when the food was gone. Jim reached for Spock's hand and held it on his lap. He traced the veins that ran from Spock's wrist to the point between his second and third fingers.

"Am I doing it right?" Jim asked.

"My experience is limited," Spock said, his voice hitching as Jim began to rub the web of skin between Spock's thumb and second finger, "but your technique is effective."

Jim was still stroking his hand when they fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks were filled with paperwork, changes in ship assignments, meetings with Sulu to go over which ship would cover what quadrant. He'd gone up to the _Enterprise_ four times, slept in his cabin for a ten-day stretch because it was easier than waking up early to catch the 0600 transport just so Scotty could send him up the tubes again to review another questionable modification.

He called Spock every night that week when he retired to his cabin for the evening. When Spock picked up, Jim felt a jolt of excitement and spoke to him in a hushed tone, like the walls were listening. He lay on his back on the thin regulation mattress, and he imagined the tips of Spock's fingers against his. Spock spoke little, mostly listening to Jim recount his day, and always wished him a restorative sleep.

"Wait, put your hand in the air," Jim said on the fourth night before Spock had terminated the connection.

"For what purpose?" came Spock's voice, which was soft, and Jim imagined him whispering into his ear.

"You know, so I can pretend I'm kissing you," Jim said, aware that it was corny. He blushed furiously at his own words but held his fingers up anyway. Spock claimed he did the same. Jim felt giddy as he fell asleep.

After a week of solitary nights in his cabin, Jim found he no longer liked sleeping alone. It surprised him how quickly he'd gotten used to Spock's presence in just two weeks, how much he'd miss Spock stretched out beside him when they were apart for five years. They hadn't actually done anything more than lie next to one another and engage in copious amounts of Vulcan-style kissing, which Jim found equal parts frustrating and satisfying. Jim wasn't sure if Spock had ever kissed the human way before, and for the first time, he didn't want to rush into sex. This was...this was worth taking his time, but the February launch date was approaching quickly, and Spock outright refused an appointment as science officer every chance Jim offered. He tried to take Bones's advice and not think about it.

Spock was studying in the kitchen when Jim got home on Friday with a pint of vanilla ice cream and a fifth of whiskey. He was still in his uniform, head bent over a PADD. Jim stuck the ice cream in the freezer and set the bottle on the counter, draping himself over Spock's back.

"I missed you," Jim said against his ear. "I had one hell of a week. I don't suppose you want to cuddle up on the couch and do shots?"

Spock passed on drinking but agreed to sit with him. Jim sprawled out, leaning against Spock's side as he watched the news and drank straight from the bottle, occasionally leaning over to press a kiss to Spock's shoulder. Spock continued to read, but he smiled when Jim trailed a kiss along his hand.

"Do you want to watch a vid or something?" Jim suggested, the whiskey a pleasant burn in his chest that chased away the week's stresses.

"I must study," Spock said, "and I have lab practicals to grade."

Jim placed a hand on the PADD, partially covering the screen. "Don't you have aides for that?" he asked playfully.

"I do, but I admit I find myself to be a more thorough judge of my students' work."

"How many hours have you been studying?"

"Six," Spock said.

"Did you eat dinner?"

"I will."

"Spock, you have to take a break once in a while," Jim said, flicking the power switch. The screen went dark. "It's good for the mind."

"I am Vulcan," Spock reminded him, and the screen glowed bright again. "I do not require frequent breaks as a human does."

"You're also half human."

"I am Vulcan," Spock repeated, his voice harder. Jim pressed his head into his hand and rubbed it over his face.

"This is always going to be a thing with you, isn't it," he muttered. He sat up, and the whiskey's pleasant effects were suddenly diminished. He set the bottle aside.

Spock narrowed his eyes. "Clarify," he said.

"Being human versus Vulcan," Jim said, resting his arms on his knees. The news broadcast continued in the background, but Jim ignored it. "You told me that you accepted admission to the VSA to prove them wrong, that your human half wasn't a disadvantage."

"That is correct."

"But you've internalized what they said to you your whole life. You outright hate your human half. You honestly _hate_ a part of yourself because you actually think of it as a disadvantage."

"I will not allow you to lecture me about my heritage," Spock said sharply.

"I _like_ when you're human around me," Jim said, turning to face him fully. He gripped Spock's forearms, trying to convey through touch what he was conveying poorly through words. Spock pulled easily from his grasp and stood up. He stormed out of the apartment, his footsteps audible on the staircase, and Jim buried his face in his hands.

"Fuck," he swore and stumbled into his shoes and coat, running out the door after him.

Jim stood on the sidewalk outside the apartment building, looking left and right, wondering which direction Spock might have taken. Maybe he went back toward campus, or maybe he headed a couple blocks east to Nyota's apartment. Jim fished his comm from his pocket, prepared to call her or Admiral Pike, when he spotted a lone figure on the playground across the street.

Spock was seated on the swingset, his hands wrapped around the chains. It swung gently, and he stared at the ground, unblinking.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, stopping a few feet away. The gravel crunched under his boots. "I shouldn't have said that. I don't have any idea what it's been like for you."

"No," Spock said. "You do not."

"Please come back upstairs," Jim said. He reached out a hand, but Spock jerked away from it. Jim held both of his up in the air in submission.

"I won't touch you," he said. "Just please come back inside. It's cold out here."

"I am fine."

"I can see you're shaking," Jim countered. "I'm cold. You must be freezing."

Spock shook his head, so Jim sighed and took the swing next to him.

"Do you want my jacket?" he offered. Spock didn't answer, so Jim took it off and draped it over his back. Spock frowned at him, but Jim said, "It's logical" and Spock slipped his arms through the sleeves. In the trees overhead, roosting birds trilled a chorus which was almost hypnotizing. Jim pushed off the ground and let himself swing back and forth before he spoke again.

"All I meant," Jim said quietly, "is that I really like you — all of you—and it's hard knowing that you don't. It makes me wonder how you can like me."

Spock's chin dropped to his chest, and his swing stilled. He exhaled audibly and extended a hand. Jim took it.

"As a child," Spock began, "I was taunted because of my mixed heritage. The other children frequently made attempts to arouse my human emotions. They invoked racial slurs against my mother and called me inferior. I have been determined to prove them wrong."

His voice was unwavering, but Jim could somehow feel his upset. He squeezed his hand.

"My affection for you is confusing," Spock went on. "I saw it in my elder self's mind. I considered it a weakness, a failure as a Vulcan. I did not desire it. I sought to avoid it. When you came to the embassy, when I was told that I was to stay with you, I would not have gone had I known—"

"My name," Jim finished. "That's why you asked about my eyes."

"Yes," Spock said.

"So they were—the other us, I mean—they were together?"

"For many years."

"Wow," Jim said, grinning at the idea of them middle aged. It was Spock who squeezed his hand this time.

"You are pleased by this," Spock observed. His voice was higher, like he was surprised.

"It's kind of awesome," Jim said, "like we're destined to be together or something. I don't really believe in fate, but it makes me think maybe this can work, even after the ship leaves."

"Five years is not long," Spock said, "relative to a lifetime."

Jim felt a surge of something warm in his chest, and he turned to Spock, biting his lip. He angled the swing so they faced each other. Spock's eyes were searching.

"I want to kiss you," Jim said. "The human way. Okay?"

Spock nodded, and Jim took his face between his hands. Spock's cheeks were warm, and his mouth was slack against Jim's when he pressed their lips together. Jim was about to pull back when Spock leaned toward him and kissed Jim in return, hesitantly, his movements uncertain. Jim slid his hands into Spock's hair as Spock's kisses became more urgent. His hands came to rest on Jim's thighs, and his tongue darted out when his mouth parted. His tongue didn't feel like a human's, a little rougher in texture, and Jim imagined what it would feel like on his body, how it would feel to have Spock push inside him. He shuddered and pulled back, breathing hard, and slid a hand to Spock's shoulder, the other cradling his face.

"Did you get all that?" he asked.

"Yes," Spock said a little breathlessly.

"Are you still confused?"

"Possibly."

"Are you okay with it?"

"I believe I will be."

"Just so you know," Jim said, resting their foreheads together, "as first kisses go, that was one for the records."

ooo ooo ooo

Over the next week, Starfleet Headquarters required Jim's presence for a conference on new security measures and protocol, occupying him for twelve-hour days. He was not in the apartment when Spock arrived home from campus, as he often was. Spock found himself watching clocks as though doing so would cause time to move at a faster rate. This was absurd, as was his observation that doing so, in fact, caused time to seemingly lag. Illogical, he told himself, but there was no mistaking the thud of his heart when Jim arrived home at approximately 1917 hours every night.

Jim sent him occasional messages throughout the day.

**oo** bored. miss you.

**oo** my dress uniform wasn't made for sitting

**oo** when i get home i'm gonna checkmate you so hard

If reading Jim's messages caused Spock's heart rate to accelerate, he did not catalogue by what percentage.

At the conference's culmination, Jim brought home takeout and lay on the couch with his face on Spock's lap.

"I hate bureaucracy," he muttered. Spock lightly stroked the back of his neck. "I got those avocado rolls you like. I felt bad about missing lunch yesterday."

It was not logical that Jim should have attended their regular lunch session, nor was it logical that he should regret this. Spock's pleasure at Jim's words was likely illogical as well. He schooled his features into careful neutrality and merely squeezed Jim's neck lightly in return.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," Jim said. "Meet you in the kitchen."

Spock opened the bag of takeout and divided the rolls between two plates. He poured soy sauce into a small dish and got out two sets of chopsticks. The second place setting caused a thrill of delight through his abdomen. Alone in the kitchen, he did not suppress it.

Jim kissed him before he sat down at the table. He abandoned the chopsticks after two failed attempts to lift a roll with them.

"My hands aren't as talented as yours," he said, winking and picking up a roll with his fingers.

"You do not wish to learn," Spock corrected him.

"Hey, after we're finished eating," Jim said, changing the subject, "I've got a surprise for you. Do you trust me?" Spock nodded. Jim smiled and soaked a roll in too much soy sauce.

Spock did not expect to leave the apartment, so he was caught off guard when Jim brought him a jacket and helped him to put it on.

"It's breezy tonight," he explained. "I figured you'd be more comfortable."

Jim held his hand as they walked. He found it a gratuitous display of emotion, but he reminded himself that he was on Earth, and to Terrans the action was innocent in nature. Jim's thumb overlapped his, fingers curling around the side of Spock's hand, and their palms touched. Four times during their walk, Jim squeezed his hand and glanced to Spock and smiled.

They stopped outside the geology building, and Jim got out his ID and scanned it at the door. The light blinked green twice and went out. He pushed open the door and ushered Spock inside.

"Where are we going?" Spock asked.

"It's a surprise," Jim said and pointed to the staircase. They ascended two floors, to a laboratory Spock knew well. It was where they studied sediments. Jim switched on the lights, and the room illuminated as he led Spock to the row of microscopes and pointed.

"Thought you could show me how these things work," he said. He pulled out a small jar and set it on the counter. "I had your aunt send me some sand from the beach up north."

It was sentimental, but Spock took the jar and unscrewed it with a practiced motion, tapping its contents into a clear shallow dish. He switched on the microscope—a small, bullet-shaped device in a compact stand—and before them in the air, approximately two feet square, it projected an image of the magnified sand. He used a small scriber to move the grains around in the dish, expose ones concealed beneath larger particles. Spock marveled at the colors, the sharp points on each grain which varied greatly in shape: rounded, square, and what Terrans termed heart-shaped.

"Wow," Jim said. "You'd never know there was so much variety. It just looks beige when you're standing on it."

"Indeed," Spock said.

"What's the dark one there?"

"That is a mica chip," Spock said. "This white grain is feldspar. These are quartz." He pointed to the clear grains. "This sand has not traveled far. That is why the grains retain their sharp edges. Though I know it to be true, I can also deduce that the sand is from an aquatic environment."

"How?" Jim said, frowning and tilting his head.

"The surface texture of these grains is smooth," Spock said. "Therefore, the transportation medium was likely water. It protected the grains from damage when they struck one another, retaining their glassy appearance. The sand grains on Vulcan appeared clouded. That is how I know our planet was likely always a desert."

He switched off the microscope, and the image vanished. He took a deep breath before he turned to face Jim. "I am pleased you have expressed an interest in my work," he said.

"This is probably pretty basic to you," Jim said. "But it's neat to see. And, um..."

He reached into his pocket and placed the orange vial on the counter, leaving his hand wrapped around it. He didn't look up. Spock recognized it, the torn label, the small amount of sand inside just visible through the orange plastic.

"I figured out what this was when you wouldn't talk about it."

Spock swallowed as Jim slid the vial toward him.

"Show me," he said.

Spock accessed his central controls to steady the shaking in his hands and tilted the contents of the vial into a second dish. He was careful not to spill a grain, and he tapped the dish on the counter to evenly spread the sand into a single layer. He removed the Terran sample and placed this one on the platform. With a deep breath, he switched on the light, and Vulcan appeared before him.

The sample was unremarkable. The grains of sand were no different than any other grains of sand on Vulcan, silicon dioxide in composition with reddish-orange patches of iron oxide, the color of his home world. The grains varied in size but were evenly shaped, well rounded with no uneven edges, the surfaces lightly pitted from striking one another as the wind swept the sand across Vulcan's vast deserts. Despite it being ordinary, Spock's breath caught in his throat at the sight of it.

"It's beautiful," Jim murmured. He wrapped his arms around Spock from behind and pressed up against him. Spock closed his eyes and felt Jim's chest, his hips, his breath against Spock's neck. "I wish I could have seen it."

ooo ooo ooo

Spock felt warm as they walked home, warmer than he had since arriving on Earth. He held Jim's hand through the front door of the building and into the lift. Jim's mouth was a welcome pressure against his throat. He raised his hands to Jim's back, pressing their chests together, a tightness with which he was now familiar building in his groin. He found he desired to lie in bed with Jim, to remove their clothing, to take pleasure in one another. Jim had a similar desire, because he took Spock by the wrist when the doors slid open and guided him down the hallway. Jim stopped abruptly when he spotted a figure sitting in front of the door.

"Hey," Gary said softly, getting up.

"You've got some nerve showing up here." Jim's voice was low. He did not release Spock's wrist.

"Well, you wouldn't speak to me at the conference, and you won't accept my calls. What do you want me to do?"

"You're not a member of my crew anymore," Jim said firmly. "I have nothing to say to you, Commander."

"Dammit, Jim, just talk to me!"

"I will not allow you to speak to Jim in this manner," Spock said, stepping forward.

Gary narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that's your business, is it?"

"It is," Spock said.

Gary looked between the two of them, at Jim's hand locked around Spock's wrist like a vise. He bobbed his head, then exhaled loudly.

"Well, this was inevitable," he said.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Jim snapped.

"The two of you," Gary said. "I mean, the chess was one thing. I put up with that for a year, the way you'd drop everything when your comm went off. Then I find out he's in your hospital room every goddamned day. Yeah, I called to check up on you every _fucking_ morning. Then you're even sleeping in the same room once you get home. He's taking you out to dinner. You're taking him on road trips up the coast—"

"You're the one who requested the transfer!" Jim spit. "Not me."

"— and then you asked what I thought about making him your science officer. All I could imagine was five years watching the two of you on the bridge." Gary's voice wavered. He looked down at the floor. "I saw Sulu out one night and we got talking. He mentioned that Nogura wanted to give him his own command, so I put in my application. I figured, if it was accepted, that was my answer."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Jim dropped Spock's wrist and folded his arms over his chest. "We could have avoided all of this if you'd just talked to me in the first place."

"I'm just asking for five minutes." Gary took a step nearer Jim. Spock tensed but did not move from where he stood. "That's all."

"Spock," Jim said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, can you just give us a few?"

Jim's words were like cold water breaking over him. Spock stepped backwards quickly toward the door, feeling for the handle and pressing his thumb to the lock. He opened it without a word and retreated to the bedroom. He must meditate, regain his balance. Jim would not dishonor him, but Spock did not want to hear Gary's voice. He sank to the floor, squeezing his eyes tightly. He drew his hands together and breathed so loudly that he drowned out the voices. His walls came up around him, and he slipped under.

ooo ooo ooo

When Spock emerged from his trance, Jim was seated beside him. His hand rested on Spock's knee. Spock straightened, rolling his shoulders. Jim's head snapped up. He squeezed Spock's thigh and gave him a weak smile.

"Good, you're back," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry about Gary."

"Do not be," Spock said.

"I can't believe he just showed up like that." Jim's hand stilled. "I guess that kind of ruined the evening, huh?"

"It is, in fact, still evening," Spock said. He allowed himself a small smile. Jim leaned forward and kissed him.

"Can we get off the floor?" he asked, nodding to the bed. "I've been sitting here for a half hour. My ass is asleep."

Spock nodded. Jim rose and held out a hand. Spock took it, and as Jim pulled him to his feet, he sensed guilt.

"It is not your fault that Gary came here," Spock tried to reassure him, but the guilt spiked. Spock sat on the bed and held Jim's hands to his chest. Through Jim's skin, Spock felt the sensation of Gary's mouth pressed to his, of unwelcome fingers against his face, curved painfully around his neck. Jim looked away, obviously aware of what he had projected.

"He touched you," Spock said.

"I didn't want him to. I told him to leave."

"I—" Spock began, tilting Jim's head so he could view the reddened skin on his neck. "I feel anger that he touched you."

Jim took a deep breath. "So make us both forget."

With Spock watching him, Jim reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, then unfastened his pants. He stepped out of them and hooked his thumbs on either side of his briefs, pushing them down and kicking them away. Spock felt embarrassed, his cheekbones hot and eyes flickering from Jim's face to his chest and lower.

"You're allowed to look," Jim said. Spock permitted Jim to remove his clothing and lay him back against the sheets, his legs over the side of the bed. Jim kissed his way down Spock's chest, over the sparse dark hair, following the trail that formed at his navel to his groin. Jim licked a stripe along the underside of Spock's scrotum, laughing when Spock gasped and gripped the sheets. Jim placed his hands on Spock's thighs and pushed them apart wider.

"I want you to feel this," Jim said as he dropped between them.

The warmth of Jim's mouth around him was unlike any experience of Spock's life until this point. He heard moans escape his own mouth and fought to control them. When he climaxed, Spock's mouth was open but blessedly mute. His eyes were closed. He'd bitten down so hard on his lip at one point, he drew blood. He could taste the copper. Jim crawled up beside him, covering him with a sheet, and stroked his face until the flushed sensation faded from his chest and face, his heart rate had returned to normal. His eyes fluttered open.

"Good?" Jim asked.

"Yes." Spock's chest was heaving.

"Good," Jim said and kissed him. Spock kept his mouth tightly closed, so Jim nipped at the underside of his jaw instead.

"You consumed my seminal fluid," Spock said, placing an unmoving hand on Jim's back.

"I think it's hot," Jim said and licked the point of Spock's ear. "It turns me on."

"Do you wish for me to reciprocate?"

"Only if you want to," Jim murmured, ghosting a kiss over the hollow of his throat, "or I could jerk off and you can watch me."

Spock's heart thudded in his side at the image Jim projected to him. "You would permit me to observe you?"

Jim kissed him and trailed a hand down his own chest in response, settling back against the pillows and concentrating on Spock's face. He took himself in his hand and moved his thumb over the head, inhaling sharply. Spock's eyes were wide, and his chest heaved as he watched.

"You can touch me if you want," Jim whispered. Spock shuddered and closed his fingers over Jim's hip.

ooo ooo ooo

"You two are so in love, it's disgusting," Nyota observed over a beer. She clinked her glass against Jim's and leaned back in the wooden seat beside Scotty. "But sweet," she added.

Jim grinned through a mouthful of pizza and kissed Spock's cheek sloppily. Nyota shook her head and laughed. Scotty lifted the pitcher and refilled his glass and Jim's. Nyota turned down another. Beneath the table, Jim slid a hand to Spock's inner thigh.

"I can't wait to get you home," Jim whispered into his ear. It was slight, but Jim detected Spock's shiver. He attempted to control it, Jim could tell, but Spock's ears flushed. Jim leaned into his side and heard Spock's breathing quicken, satisfied.

"Jim..." Spock said quietly, straightening.

"I know, I know," Jim whispered. "We're in public." He winked but sat up.

"See what I mean?" Nyota said. "I'm going to need an insulin shot before we're done eating."

"Spock, you're certain there's no way we can convince you to apply for the _Enterprise_?" Scotty asked. "I could use a brilliant mind like yours."

"I am certain," Spock replied.

"I've tried every form of bribery I know," Jim said. "He turns me down flat every time." He leaned forward with both elbows on the table. Nyota shot him a dirty look. He rolled his eyes but dropped his hands into his lap.

"Where's Len?" Nyota asked.

"Where do you think?" Jim replied.

"I don't understand why they're not engaged yet," Nyota said. "It's been what, three years? He practically lives at her place."

"He didn't exactly have a great experience the first time around," Jim reminded her.

"I guess," she said.

"So are you two going to file the official 'we're Starfleet and we're dating' paperwork?" he asked, gesturing between her and Scotty. "You know what those official regulations say."

"Oh, like how you and Gary—" Nyota started, then bit off the rest of her sentence. Jim held his breath for a second. She looked down, wiped her mouth on her napkin. "Sorry. Yes, I'll probably fill out my portion tomorrow and send it to you."

Jim was still thinking about her words when they got home. Spock remained close at his side but didn't touch him. He supposed Spock was thinking about Gary, too. It was funny. He'd been at the forefront of Jim's mind every day for months, until the day he just wasn't there anymore. Now he was on both of their minds, and Jim didn't know how to shake him.

Without speaking, he hung up their jackets, and Spock went into the kitchen to replicate the usual drinks for chess. Jim leaned in the doorway and watched him. Spock's back was to him. Jim looked at the pale skin of his neck disappearing into his sweater, how his arms hung politely at his sides, the straight line of his back. Jim couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face.

"You know I love you, right?" he blurted.

Spock's head whipped around. His eyes were wide. He opened his mouth like he might speak, but no words came out.

"Well, I do," Jim said as Spock walked forward and embraced him. "Just so you know."

ooo ooo ooo

Pike opened the door in an apron that read "_Kiss the cook_."

"I've been recruited for kitchen duty," he said, ushering them inside. "Can I get either of you a beer?"

"I'll take one," Jim said. He turned to Spock. "What do you want? Water?"

"Yes," Spock said.

"I'll grab it," Jim said, squeezing his shoulder. "I want to say hi to Number One, offer her my legendary cooking skills."

"He knows how to cook?" Pike asked as Jim disappeared into the kitchen.

"So he claims," Spock replied. "He is adept with a replicator."

"Well, come on in. Guess I'm off duty with Jim in the kitchen." Pike removed the apron and sat down. He motioned to the couch. "There are a few things I want to talk about."

Spock removed his coat and laid it on the couch beside him.

"Nice scarf," Pike commented. Spock reached up to it, closing his hand around the soft black wool. Jim had given it to him to commemorate his graduation from the Academy. "Looks warm."

"It was a gift," Spock said.

"Oh?" Pike leaned back in his armchair. "From someone special?"

"Indeed," Spock answered. He could feel his face color.

"Anyone I know?"

Jim returned with Spock's water, setting it on the coffee table and kissing his cheek.

"Number One has me chopping onions," he said. "You okay?"

"Yes," Spock replied, and Jim went back into the kitchen.

"Huh," Pike said, regarding him. He took a long sip of his beer. "Have to say, I didn't see that one coming."

"It was...unexpected," Spock said finally.

"Well, I'm happy for you. Both of you." Pike leaned forward, clasping both hands around the bottle. "What are you going to do when he leaves?"

"I have put in applications to bases on Edo and Tellar Prime, as you know." The Edosians were free with emotion, but the planet was almost entirely devoid of crime.

"I know what you have in mind professionally," Pike said. "I meant, do you have any plans for the future?"

Spock regarded him blankly.

"With _Jim_," Pike prompted.

"We have no plans for formal commitments."

"That's a shame," Pike said with a shake of his head. "I always wanted to give someone away at the altar."

Spock sipped from his glass. It was room temperature. Jim had left out the ice as a consideration. Pike's smile faded, and he cleared his throat.

"Look, Spock," Pike began, rubbing his knee. "I don't know how to tell you this, other than to come out and tell you." He cleared his throat. "Due to your exceptional performance at the academy, your final test scores, Starfleet is unwilling to assign you to a base. They want to assign you to the _Hypatia_."

There had been no promise of a base assignment, but he had been assured that as a Vulcan survivor, his requests would be given more weight than a typical graduate's. He could appeal on the grounds of emotional distress, but to do so...

An unwelcome anger surged within Spock, but outwardly he revealed nothing.

"Now, because I know you," Pike continued, "I asked if I could be the one who broke the news. I tried to appeal on your behalf, but it was denied. Unfortunately, this is the downfall of working for the military."

Spock clenched his jaw. He had selected bases conducting critical research into planetary stability and the use of cold fusion to control planet-threatening volcanos. Surely that knowledge was as important as any he would gain on a five-year mission. He balled his hands into fists but did not respond.

"They want you as chief science officer. But frankly, I'd rather see you serve with Jim than be assigned to the ship Nogura picks for you," Pike was saying. "I just wish it could be your decision. I think you belong on a starship. Why are you so against it?"

Jim asked him this often, but Spock never gave a full answer. He often fantasized about life aboard a starship, about serving with Jim, about visiting exotic planets and having access to minerals so rare he had only read sparse descriptions of their qualities. Yet...he had survived the loss of his planet. Soon, he would lose Earth as well. Vulcan's last moments had passed while Spock stood on the _Enterprise_. Would there ever be a time when Vulcan was not conjured by an orange planet on the viewscreen, or by the ship achieving warp?

A Vulcan should not act out of fear, yet Spock could not stomach the idea of living in space. Now he was being forced there.

"I believe I would find a base assignment professionally satisfying," was all he said.

Pike nodded slowly, resting his chin on his hand, eyebrows knitting together as he stared at the unlit fireplace. He appeared deep in thought. He looked back to Spock and cocked his head.

"You know," he said, lowering his voice, "there are regulations with regards to bonded pairs. Terran marriages like mine, there's no guaranteeing we'll be assigned to the same ship—hell, even the same quadrant. But Starfleet gives special consideration to telepathic species."

Spock stared at him.

"I know you two aren't planning anything just yet, but promise me you'll at least think about it."

Though he did not answer, Spock nodded slowly.

"Oh, and if anyone asks?" Pike added. "You didn't hear this last part from me."

ooo ooo ooo

Spock was quiet on the walk home, though he allowed Jim to hold his hand. With the other, he occasionally touched the scarf at his neck as he mulled over what Pike had told him. Once again, he was faced with a decision he was reluctant to make. Inability to decide would see him on USS _Hypatia_. Starfleet was within its rights to assign him to the ship. He was within his rights to challenge—a psychologist would surely agree — but he would not shame himself with such a report in his record. He must accept Starfleet's decision and leave with the crew on December 1, or do as Pike suggested.

Pike's suggestion was logical, but Spock realized that he no longer wished to bond merely because of logic. He clasped Jim's hand tighter, assured by the affection Jim radiated. If they bonded—_when_ they bonded, for Spock did not wish to envision a future that did not include Jim—it would be because they both wished it. Spock was, uncharacteristically, uncertain when Jim had become a permanent fixture in his life, but he had come to realize he never wished to be parted from him. It would be wrong to create a bond in this manner, yet his adrenaline and dopamine levels were heightened by the thought of touching Jim's mind, of connecting it to his own.

He shivered, and Jim looked at him with a grin, the absence of which Spock knew he would deeply regret.

"So are you going to tell me what Pike said to you?" Jim asked as they got ready for bed.

"He said several things to me," Spock replied. "To which are you referring?"

"Your sass is cute sometimes, but right now, you're just being evasive." Jim sighed and switched off the light before he crawled into bed. Spock remained upright, the sheet pulled to his waist, and studied his hands in the glow from the alarm clock. Jim had touched them eight times today. Spock would miss his touch when they were separated.

"Starfleet has assigned me to the _Hypatia_," he said.

"What?" Jim said, gripping Spock's arm.

"They believe my skills would be better utilized aboard a starship."

"Jesus," Jim said, leaning back against the headboard. He covered his mouth and heaved a sigh. "I've been trying to talk you onto my ship for almost a year, and they get you on board in an evening."

"This is not my desire," Spock said. "I have no wish to serve with—" His mouth would not form the name.

"He'll be a good first officer," Jim said quietly. "He keeps his personal life off of the bridge. You won't have any problems with him. Sulu would never allow it."

Jim flopped back on the bed, covering his face with his arms.

"God, this sucks. If they were going to force you on a ship, why couldn't they put you on the _Enterprise_? Did Pike say if you've got a choice?"

"I do not," Spock said.

"I thought we'd have another couple months together, at least. The ship's leaving in, what, twelve days?"

"Yes."

"I doubt you'd be willing to go AWOL, and I'm not willing to give up my command, otherwise we could run away to New Vulcan or something." Jim laughed, but Spock could discern from Jim's tone that it was insincere.

Spock considered this, frowning and aligning his thumbs so they were parallel. The fingernail on his left hand was longer by one millimeter. He closed his eyes and attempted to focus on his breathing, but this failed to calm him. Pike's suggestion was foremost in his mind.

"There—" Spock began, swallowing with what he knew to be nervousness. His hands shook. He clenched them together more tightly. "There is an alternative."

"What is it?"

"Admiral Pike suggested that we...bond." He said the final word so quietly, even he barely heard it.

Jim touched his elbow. "That we what?"

Spock took a deep breath. "Bond," he repeated.

"Bond as in..._bond_? Like a soul bond?"

"It would be a preliminary bond," Spock corrected, refusing to look up, "were one to exist."

"How is this an alternative?"

"Starfleet does not separate bonded pairs."

"So, we'd sort of be...engaged?"

"It is somewhat more than a betrothal," Spock answered carefully, "yet less than a marriage."

"And they'd have to let you serve on the _Enterprise_?"

"That is my understanding."

"Then yes," Jim said immediately.

"I did not ask a question."

"I accept anyway."

Spock shook his head. "I have yet to describe the process through which the bond is formed, and what you are likely to experience being bonded to a Vulcan. It would be unfair—"

"Yes," Jim said again, with more insistence. He tilted Spock's chin up and looked him in the eye. Jim's were shining.

"This is not something we should enter into lightly."

"I love you."

"There are things we do not speak of, of which you must be aware if we were to—"

"Let's look at the facts," Jim interrupted, taking Spock's hands. Jim was..._happy_. "We do this, and you get to come with me on the _Enterprise _for five years. They can't separate us. Right?"

"I do not believe so."

"Would you rather serve on the _Hypatia_?"

"I would not."

"Are you planning to break up with me?"

"No." Spock squeezed Jim's hands and turned toward him.

"Well, I'm not planning to break up with you either. So, you know, we might as well do this."

"I—" Spock tried, but Jim cut him off excitedly.

"It's even logical," Jim said, scooting closer so their knees touched. "Uhura's not thrilled about being my XO, and I can't get Scotty on the bridge. Maybe in a year or two, they'll let me promote you. You could do double duty! Think of how kickass this would make us as a command team. I mean, our _minds_ will be connected, right?"

"We have never melded. I can only surmise that our minds will be compatible." Spock smoothed a thumb over Jim's second finger, but Jim's face fell.

"Don't you want to bond with me?" Jim asked as uncertainty seeped through their hands. "It's important to you—to your species, I mean. Isn't it?"

"It is," Spock admitted.

"I want to bond with you. I mean, if you want to."

At Jim's words, Spock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Jim," Spock said, "It is not that I do not wish it. However, with the Vulcan elders gone, the essence of my culture is lost. With it has been lost our most adept healers. I am uncertain whether any survive who are capable of severing—"

He could not say it. Once linked to Jim, Spock knew he would never wish to let him go. It was imperative that Jim understand. Tightening his grip on Jim's hands, he dared to look up at him.

"Once forged," Spock said, "a bond is not easily broken."

"I'm not doing this just to get you on my ship," Jim said gently. "I wouldn't agree to this if I didn't want it."

"You do not feel it is wrong?"

"Spock, people get married for stupid reasons every day on Vega5. This is a good reason. Okay?"

From the recesses of his mind surfaced a memory: his elder self and an elder version of Jim in dress uniform, turned toward one another, their palms touching. He felt the echo of a bond forming, a rush of love direct to his brain, the presence of another mind in his—not as T'Pring's had felt, but welcome and cherished. Bondmates. He had not intended to ask this of Jim so soon. The circumstances were not ideal, but that did not decrease Spock's desire.

"Yes," he agreed.

"Yes," Jim repeated and leaned forward to kiss him.

ooo ooo ooo

As on many other nights, Jim projected an image of their bodies connected. Spock knew Jim wished it. He groaned and bit Jim's neck. The joining of their bodies was slow. Spock paused at every hitch in Jim's breath. Jim clutched at his shoulders, digging in his fingernails and dragging them along Spock's back as encouragement. The tight heat was utterly unlike Jim's mouth. Spock gasped when Jim clenched around him.

"Oh, god," Jim moaned, "you feel incredible. Is this okay? Are you okay, sweetheart?"

The word made Spock shudder. He mouthed Jim's throat, scraping teeth along his Adam's apple. Spock held Jim tightly in his arms and saw bright blue when he came. They showered afterwards. Jim wrapped his arms around Spock's neck and kissed him lazily, sweetly beneath the steady stream of water.

"We need to do that more often," Jim smiled against his lips. "Like every day."

"That would be satisfactory."

"I know the captain of the _Enterprise_," Jim said. "Pretty sure I can get us adjoining cabins."

"Oh?"

"They even come with shared baths, so we can shower together and, you know. Conserve resources." Jim kissed him again. His lips were wet, so Spock licked them. "So, when are we doing this thing?"

ooo ooo ooo

At seven years of age, Spock proudly entered the Kurat temple with his parents. T'Pring and her family waited for him. They knelt before T'Pau, who would assist in forming the bond, as they were both children. She pressed a steady hand to his face, her other to T'Pring's, and began to speak. Spock became aware of two additional minds in his. When T'Pau's hand came away, T'Pring's presence remained.

Spock did not require assistance this time. He and Jim had agreed upon late Friday afternoon, when McCoy was sure to be away, and Jim had no meetings scheduled. They switched off their comms, engaged the privacy lock on the front door, and drew the curtains.

They sat cross-legged on the bed, their knees touching. The apartment was quiet, though Spock could make out the sounds of traffic and pedestrians outside. Jim's heart rate was elevated, his breathing heavy. When Spock took his hands, they were damp with perspiration, but he projected only excitement. He brought Jim's hands to his lips and kissed them, then held them in his left hand. With his right, he began a careful exploration of Jim's face: his forehead, the slope of his nose, his rounded ear. Jim's eyes were open when Spock pressed fingers to his meld points. He had never initiated a meld outside of formal training.

Jim's mind was open to him, a vast stretch of space. Because Jim was human, Spock had expected his mind to be disordered, even disorienting in its arrangement, but Spock looked around him and saw beauty. He glimpsed a weather-worn farmhouse, sun-baked fields swaying in the breeze, an old-fashioned Terran automobile, and Jim. He stood looking up to the blue sky crisscrossed by wisps of clouds. Spock placed a hand on his shoulder.

_Spock?_

_Yes._

_This is...kinda weird, but neat. Can you see all my memories and stuff?_

_Do you wish me to?_

_Yes. I mean, you're always going to be in my head, right? _

_In a sense._

_How does this work, exactly? Do I need to do anything?_

_Allow your mind to remain open to me. _

_You got it._

Jim settled against him, and the landscape began to fade. Overhead, the sky darkened until stars were visible. Jim's mind lurched forward, and—

They stood outside sickbay. Spock saw himself as Jim had seen him, bent over and trembling, felt Jim's concern as he placed hands on Spock's back and guided him into the fresher.

_This is my first memory of you. _

He sensed Jim's concern, the urge to reach out and offer comfort, the aborted move of his hand toward Spock's shoulder. Spock blinked, and —

They stood on his aunt's front porch. She had Jim in her embrace and whispered into his ear. "I'm so glad he found you. Take care of each other." Jim nodded and agreed. He did not correct her. "We will." The aircar moved swiftly as they drove south. Through Jim's eyes, Spock looked sad. Jim debated whether it would be appropriate to embrace him, and—

Jim's vision was blurred, his surroundings hazy. A woman pressed up against his side, but he could not remember her name. Spock watched him stumble and catch himself on her shoulder as he looked to the kitchen where Spock no longer stood. He was alone, despite the hand on his leg. His head swam with alcohol, and—

Golden Gate Park appeared before them. Jim stared up at Spock from where he lay on the blanket. Spock's attention was on the music, and he did not realize Jim was watching him. Spock sensed his loneliness, his longing, his naked hope when Spock aligned their hands. Peals of Jim's mental laughter filled his ears.

_I thought it was just me._

_No, Jim. _

Jim turned toward Spock and clasped his hands. On all sides, Jim's mind exploded in vibrant colors: the blues and greens of Earth, the reds of Vulcan. They grew in intensity, becoming blinding, until the light enveloped them both. Spock drew Jim close so their foreheads pressed together.

_Spock._

_Jim, t'hy'la, I claim thee._

ooo ooo ooo

"I can't believe you stole my science officer," Sulu said, knocking his beer against Jim's. The senior crew of the _Hypatia_ was gathered at a bar just off base. Launch was in three days.

"I _married_ your science officer," Jim corrected him, glancing across the room to where Spock stood talking to Number One. He sent him a mental wink and felt a brush of affection in return. "Sort of."

"I'm just lucky we were able to get a replacement so quickly."

"Who'd they end up assigning you?" Jim asked.

"Marcus," Sulu said, pointing to where Carol stood laughing with Nyota and Christine.

"She's good, and I bet your XO is happier with the arrangement," Jim said, taking a swig. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and looked down the bar, where Gary sat talking with Olson.

"Probably," Sulu agreed. "You look really happy, man."

"Thanks," Jim said, not bothering to conceal his smile.

"Bet the admiralty isn't too thrilled. What did Pike say?"

Jim shook his head. "That we'd better have a reception and invite him."

"Nice," Sulu said. "So you're picking up the tab tonight?"

"Funny."

The crowd thinned as midnight approached. A lot of the crew had gone home for their last good night's rest on earth before the first wave of transports left in the morning. It wasn't the alcohol that made him approach Gary, just something within Jim that felt it was right. He pressed a kiss to Spock's hand and walked to the far end of the bar.

"Hey," he said, falling into the stool next to him.

"Hey," Gary replied, not looking up from his beer.

"Congratulations on your assignment."

"You too." Gary glanced at him sideways then back at the bar. "I hear additional congratulations are in order."

"You heard right," Jim said, folding his hands in front of him. Gary was silent for a pause before his mouth slid into a grin.

"Well, at least I got a hot science officer out of it," he said.

"I figured you'd approve."

Gary fingered the edge of his glass, tilting it so the beer sloshed close to the edge. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. Jim swallowed and looked away.

"Me either," he said finally.

"Keep in touch, okay?"

Jim hesitated, then reached out and clasped his shoulder. "I will."

Gary sniffed and wiped his eyes.

"Pre-mission jitters," he said.

"I know," Jim said. He stood and pulled Gary into a hug. "Take care of yourself."

"Yeah, you too."

Gary clapped his back, smiled, and left without finishing his drink. Jim watched him go. It was bittersweet, and for a moment he could only stare at the door. He heaved a breath and exhaled. He wondered if Gary would keep in contact, if they would go another two years before they spoke again. He'd always care about Gary, he supposed, and yet seeing him walk away was somehow cathartic.

He felt a brush against his mind, a wave of affection. Turning, he walked back across the bar to where Spock stood waiting for him, hand outstretched.

ooo ooo ooo

**2260**

"All moorings are clear, captain."

Spock clutched the edge of his console with both hands. The _Enterprise_ floated free, and his stomach twisted. He clapped a hand over his mouth and rose, hastening toward the fresher just off of the bridge. Nyota turned to look at him as he went, mouthing his name when he turned to her. He closed his eyes and walked faster, pushing a yeoman aside without a second thought.

The nausea rose, and he could feel his esophageal muscles begin to churn in reverse. For the third time on this ship, he knelt and was sick. His face was hot, his body shaking.

He was leaning over the sink, splashing cool water on the back of his neck, when he heard the click that signalled the door unlocking. Only two people on the bridge crew had the authority to override his personal code. Jim's hands came to rest at his waist.

"Hey," he murmured. His fingers kneaded Spock's lower back. Spock wiped his mouth and stood up.

"I apologize for my lapse in control, Captain," he said. "It will not happen again."

"Spock..." Jim said, taking his hands and turning him so they faced one another. Spock focused on the captain's stripes encircling Jim's wrists.

"We should continue the departure procedure."

"I don't give a damn about procedure right now," Jim said. "Chekov's got her. Are you okay?"

"I am fine."

"See, that's the thing about these mental bonds," Jim said gently. "I can tell when you're lying."

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock said lamely.

"I should have known this would be hard for you."

Spock averted his gaze and felt his cheeks flush again.

"I am ready to resume my post," he said evenly.

"I'm not speaking to you as your captain right now." Jim raised Spock's hands to his mouth. "It's good that you're thinking about them. You should."

Spock bowed his head as Jim kissed his knuckles, one by one.

"I know it goes against protocol," he continued, his lips warm against Spock's skin, "but I want you next to me when we go to warp."

"Jim—"

"You'll sit in my chair. I'll stand behind you. No one is going to question it," Jim said firmly. He cupped Spock's jaw and tilted his face down until their eyes locked. "Okay?"

"Yes, Captain."

"And afterwards," Jim said, "I'm going to turn over the conn to Nyota, and you and I are going to my quarters."

"For what purpose?"

"To make sure that double bed was installed as ordered," Jim said with a roll of his eyes.

Giving him a confused look, Spock said, "Mr. Scott assured me it was installed last week."

Jim grinned and shook his head. "Would you rather meld on the bridge?" he asked. Spock pulled Jim into his arms and held him tightly.

ooo ooo ooo

Jim stood proudly at the center of his bridge, hands firmly gripping Spock's shoulders. He lifted his chin and with a bob of his head to the helmsman, gave the order.

"Punch it."

The ship lurched beneath him. He squeezed tightly and felt the steady presence of Spock in his mind as, on the view screen, the stars streaked past.


End file.
